


Iron in Winter

by Lithadriene



Series: Iron in Winter [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Background Character Death, Background Relationships, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mutant Powers, Post-Loss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-03-17 05:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 37
Words: 102,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3517736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lithadriene/pseuds/Lithadriene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Lauren Hunter gets up close and personal with a messy Tony Stark after he crash lands in the middle of her vacation. His reputation and baggage precedes him, however, and his strange interaction with her mutant powers sends what should have been a much simpler life spinning towards chaos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crash

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE: As of 6/20/2017 I have finished the second draft of chapter 10. Revisit it, tell me what you think.
> 
>  
> 
> After so much lurking, I'm popping my fanfic cherry- be gentle. 
> 
> Also, check out Khirsah's Cullen Rutherford DA:Inquisition fics, they are top notch!!
> 
>  
> 
> ***All illustration is my own original work, if you want to use it please ask me!***
> 
>  
> 
> P.P.S.  
> I use my own Site Skin ***NOT ON MOBILE*** which fits well with this work but I'm a CSS noob so I can't convert it to a Work Skin :(  
> If you want to copy the settings via the Site Skin Wizard into your own skin, here are the only changes I made to color and spacing--  
> \--------------------------------------  
> Fonts and Whitespace-  
> Work Margin Width = 20
> 
> Colors-  
> Background Color : #C9BBB6  
> Text Color : #2B2002  
> Header Color : #894545  
> Accent Color : #A72E2E  
> \--------------------------------

   

        

**1:00am, Dec 29th, 2018--Upstate Pennsylvanian woods.**

 

 

Smoke furls lazily from the sleeping ashes on the end of my cigarette- it twists and smears in the current of crisp air, painted ice blue by the light of a high, half-moon, shining like a chunk of pure silver.

 _Nights like these make me feel alive._ I ruminate, smiling to myself as I pull in a greedy gasp of the rare, earthy ambrosia called winter mountain air.

My breath leaves my lips in a deliberate stream. It ventures boldly forth and then shrivels and curls in on itself as the sheer lack of heat in the black night transforms it to a fine cloud of crystalline mist. My eyes close as I inhale cautiously once more.

 _I wonder what the cold of space feels like--_ A serene and errant thought wanders through me, brought on by the delicate, pristine silence of the atmosphere.

 

A whisper of far away rhythmic, dull crunching breaks the frozen dark.

 

My ears strain against my skull to paint pictures in the moonlight for my brain to consider.

_Could be a wolf. No-- wolves don't live up here anymore... do they--? Slow. Bipedal. Definitely human._

 

Hushed gasping floats over the plodding of feet. A static of steady crunching threatens to overtake the footsteps.

 

_My direction..._

 

I peer, frozen still, around the corner of the raised back deck and south, down the winding, barely discernible break in the snow-blanketed beech and maple trunks. Under the crust of fluffy white is a walking trail which leads to my door from the small gravel access path hundreds of feet from my cabin.

As they advance, the mysterious, invisible footsteps swish against soft snow erratically. I remain glued to the spot, still as a stone, wracked with indecision about how best to approach this new information. My eyes squint against the interfering light from the kitchen window as I pick up a soft blue glow at the edge of my vision.  _What in the..._

 

_Was that...a grunt? Definitely male._

_Dragging something heavy it seems..._

_What in the hell is going on out there? Am I hallucinating?_ I secretly plead with my mind to sharpen after it had finally felt secure enough to relax more than three days ago, the moment I had finally arrived at this sanctuary of a cabin in the Pennsylvania woods.

_More importantly... what do they want with me?_

 

I shove my cigarette butt into the ashtray and slip like a ghost into the kitchen from the back door just in time to hear the crunch of this unknown humanoid's boots as it mounts my front steps. Heavy breathing quickens, the vapor flying like a surrender flag in intermittent bursts through the small windows on my front door. I hold my breath as my mind races, but with clarity.

 

_This person seems to need help. Who would be all the way out here at two in the morning on a sub-zero December night? Clearly someone desperate... but... desperate for what--?_

I'm shaken out of my temporary trance by the sound of a fist thumping once… twice on the front door and sliding slowly back down it.

_Is that a dying... flashlight? Well at least they know how to knock politely._

I've subconsciously equipped my Bersa Thunder in my right hand, pointing it at the ceiling like some schmuck henchman in a Bond movie as I walk up to the door, unlock it and pull it open only a couple of inches. My shoe plants itself firmly as a doorstop without a second thought.

 

"Who... is it?" My voice barks out, rough from smoke and adrenaline.

 

My eyes adjust to the ambient light as I see the outlines of a gaunt face, faded sickly blue white, jowls blown periodically convex then concave with greedy, graveled and pained breaths.

 

The man takes a great effort to face me from leaning desperately on the doorsill. Sharp shadows painted by the moonlight's angle over his eyebrows are all I see in place of his eyes, as though they were only sockets on a skull. His face twitches in half hearted agony as it turns up a bit more, the moonlight cresting past the defiant lines on his forehead, cutting across the tips of his eyelashes, finally flooding into bloodshot brown eyes blown so unnaturally wide that the irises are a thin shaving of rusted steel on the edge of a void.

"...Lemme just..."The words wheeze past his cracked lips , nested inbetween gasps.  
  
His heavy breath whooshes past me, warm-wet and cooling on what little exposed skin I have at my chest, the sharp and saccharine aroma of alcohol over the earthy tang of... _is that hydraulic fluid??_...floating into the opening in the door. He is, by every account, utterly exhausted. Chestnut hair sticks in wind whipped ropes of frozen sweat about his face. The clammy, frostnipped skin below his eyes bags from fatigue. His frosted eyelashes sweep dramatically low over his straining pupils. His far away gaze seems more than capable of piercing, but his eyes are too long used by now to muster the effort. Stubble flecked jowls pull down, puffing in and out more slowly now as he catches his heaving breath.

 

That's when I notice it- the soft blue glow lighting the coarse and disheveled hair on his chin from below. My throat scolds me as I suck in a sharp gasp of frozen air- adrenaline releases an electric fire in my chest as the familiarity of such an alien light hits me.

 

_That's...that's a goddamned ARC REACTOR!_

My eyes snap to the hand he was using to drag pieces of what looks like a frost covered and highly advanced version of his armor suit -which had surely been Godzilla's toothpick- on the dirty snow behind him.

 

_..._

_...Well open the door, you idiot girl!_

I blink, processing the pointed thought frantically, and pull the pine door jerkily open. He attempts to straighten a pained and weary back, to hold a lacerated and uncontrollably shivering hand up to me as a possibly sardonic introduction, a trembling half-smirk on his cracked lips.

"I know who you are, Mr. Stark. Don't waste your energy, let's... get inside." My words are a low rumble, a command laced with quiet confusion, the beginnings of an unspoken inquiry snuffed out at the very end.

_What in the hell are you doing **here**?_

 

 

Anthony Stark-- genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and possibly King Kong assault survivor-- lets his suit clunk to the dirt at my doorstep as he tries to hobble inside. I immediately set my gun, safety still on, on a table beside my door and curl my nearest hand around his wrist to steady him.

"I'm f-fine. B-been through... w-worse." he croaks through chattering teeth, glazed over eyes shifting away in slow motion. He's clearly embarrassed to count on a total stranger so entirely.

 

Part of me wants badly to engage in humor to ease his ego, but most of me is focused on caring for the cold bloodstains soaked into fabric on his abdomen and left shoulder.  Deep red streaks are nearly invisible in the cool blue moonlight. They slowly seep larger against the dark brown of the worn out cotton shirt and creased, rumpled suit pants hanging wet and stiff from him-- _how long has he been wearing those things??_. _.._   _St_ _range combo.._. His largely bare skin is wet with clammy sweat and melted frost, cold, cyanotic.

_He may have been out here for hours. After all, he is in the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania._

 

Exhausted at the prospect of relief, he falters as he takes his first step, tilting off balance. I instinctively steady him by the arms and he winces. As my eyes flick down to determine the reason, I notice his left ankle is swollen as well; it looks like a sprain, but such things are hard to say at a first, sloppy glance. It's suspect enough for me to haul his left arm over my shoulders and heft him slowly forward, however, my other arm curling around his torso to steady him. He sucks in a hissing breath as his shoulder stretches-- it's likely - _hopefully_ \- stiff from the cold and from being flexed in a pulling position for who knows how long while dragging the suit. He bristles up at first, his entire body shaking violently under the surface to recapture vital warmth, and then relaxes as best he can tentatively into me, aiding our trek to the couch.

As he settles stiffly into the cushions, those unsettling eyes flash up to me with what seems like reluctant gratitude.

 

A warm dark paints the inside of the cabin save for the obscured, blue fluorescent light of the kitchen a room away, and I had just been tending the wood burning stove before this broken man graced me with his presence.

"You know you might have died if it weren't the holiday season." I muse out loud, gravel still rumbling in my voice.

His eyelids only slide shut in reply, soaking up the warmth of the wood stove radiating towards him. The grey blue tinge in his skin is starting to fade, the shivers becoming less pronounced, but the maroon, gelatinous blood caked on his tattered shirt gathers most of my attention.

I had heard it said that this man was a highly energetic luminary- very charismatic and very conceited. His current state is reminiscent of a shellshocked zombie now. He's in a bad way, although judging on the uneasy premonition settling into my intestines, his physical wounds alone are not among the deepest.

I grab a wool blanket to throw over his legs and gingerly prop his left ankle up on a goose down pillow. He peers at me from behind drooping eyelashes, completely vulnerable. He's too ashamed and exhausted to say a word, where his reputation would normally deem him a chatterbox of sarcasm and cutting wit at any other point. My concern grows, if such a thing is possible.

"We need to get that shirt off," I sigh, trying to shuck off adrenaline, to prioritize the triage.

 

"Don't even know... your name. " His retort is weak and paper thin, forced from grey lips, half moon-eyes entranced by the fire.

 

"Hmph. You have a reputation for not needing names, you know." I smirk as he finds the energy to shoot me a mock-wounded sort of look.

\-- _It's not actually wounded, surely?_ \--

"It's Lauren." I concede, running through a checklist of rapidly formulating priorities as my eyes scour his figure. He grunts audibly as he's forced to sit up and allow me to slowly peel his shirt off, whimpering a bit when the caked cotton separates from his gaping, angry lacerations.

"I'm sorry. Just relax…" I toss the shirt into the corner near my utility room sink and stride with a single-minded focus into the kitchen. After a few minutes of searching frantically and washing my hands and forearms meticulously, I return with my dusty emergency kit, a bucket of warm, soapy water, a half used and faded bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and a large roll of gauze.

"Any blood-borne pathogens I should know about?" I ask, without thinking. He shakes his head slightly, eyes shut unnaturally and nearly asleep despite intermittent shivers, on the couch. "No sleep allowed just yet, Mr. Stark."

 

A trembling, half-hearted frown flits back across those cracked lips.

"Please, call me Tony."

 

I nod in thoughtless agreement, distracted as I toss one washcloth into the bucket and pulled a flashlight from my duffel. My hands work deftly, gently pulling his eyelids open one at a time as I check for dilation. His deep, steely brown irises are sluggish to respond. Still, they contract well enough for me to assume that the liquor I smell on his breath has more effect on his brain than a possible concussion.

 _He doesn't seem to be in shock, at least, not in the strictest biological sense of the word._ I slip back into my old med school mode, cleaning and dressing his wounds, applying local anesthetic to his skin at the shoulder and abdomen, sewing the lacerations shut. I finish applying the gauze as his calculated, almost surreptitious gaze rakes over me.

 

"You've got some sweet stuff in that magic bag of yours." He stumbles through the observation.

 

"I had a stint as an ER Nurse for a middle income suburb in Denver years back. I know people." I explain, half musing, my voice finally losing its gravel and gaining a soft quality. My bedside manner is creeping in.

 

"Lucky, lucky me." He muses, a tinge of disappointment-- _not disappointment...resignation..._ \-- on the last word.

"Now you're a hermit?" His deprecation amuses me as I work.

 

"Now I'm a biotechnology professor at MIT." I reply smoothly.

 

His eyes widen a tick in genuine surprise before he catches himself and squints hard at me, sizing me up.

 

"Relax, will you? We'll likely have plenty of time to get to know one another here, unfortunately. I hike here from the next town over, about 12 miles away. That's the only road into or out of this place which vehicles can access, and while I have running water and solar electricity, I purposefully bring no phone up here, not that a cell phone would work anyway." His eyes grow softer in a flicker of acceptance of the situation, as I lift the blanket to check his ankle. "The whole purpose of this cabin is to close off from humanity for a time... so I have carefully maintained its isolated location. We would have to hike together to the access road and then from there to the tackle store a couple miles from that town for the nearest land line, and its hours are short in the wintertime for obvious reasons. I don't know if you can make the trek in this weather--unless you have some kind of transmitter in your suit?"

A small sigh carries away the last of my further explanation. At this point I can't quite tell if I am explaining this in order to excuse the conditions, or to distract him from the constant discomfort of the impromptu exam. "This may hurt a bit-" I palpate the joint, trying to assess what type of physical damage he'd sustained. His face twitches upward as he realizes my distraction was exactly that, but he has regained enough energy to attempt to feign bravado.  

 

"No I--..." the progeny of a choked grunt leaps from deep in his throat. Stark casts a submissive gaze through the window behind me, squinting against the raw pain.

"--I... _ngggk_! Was deadstick. Lights out." he mutters the jargon filled half-explanation jerkily- my mind cannot process his meaning fully so it files the words away for later. The efforts of holding back his reactions to being prodded in the most painful place on his body at the moment are in vain.

 

_No bone blood, yet… he was supporting himself with it… likely not a break, although there may be a hairline fracture… hard to tell._

 

His lips draw instantly tight across his face as I run my fingers across the anterior endpoint of his fibula, pressing only as hard as is absolutely necessary to feel the tendons underneath the swollen and fevered skin. A quick flexibility test finds him hissing through his teeth at plantar flexion.

_Yep, likely a sprain… possible ATFL tear._

 

"Are you _**done**_ yet?" he spits impatiently through white bone, eyes watering.

 

"Yep. Terribly sorry about that. The good news is, it's likely not broken. You may have torn or strained a ligament near your ankle which takes much longer to fully mend, but we don't have to set it... which is good because I don't have the stuff for that here."

 

His head sinks back into the pillows at this news. The crow's feet slide slowly away as he lets loose a long sigh. I wrap his ankle with an ACE bandage, my mind intent on fixing. I must 'fix' Tony Stark.

"You're positive you're not S.H.I.E.L.D.?" he slurs jokingly, the tension of survival adrenaline sublimating slowly away.

 

I peer at him closely again.-- _What a strange thing to say… but…_ \--I tilt my head in confusion a bit as I glance hard into his eyes to check again for shock, just in case. -- _No… he is definitely not concussed_.-- I shuffle to the kitchen to throw my latex gloves away and attempt to wash my hands of the rubbery stink.

 _Damn I forgot how much I hate exam gloves..._ "No, Mr. Stark--"

 

"--Tony" a twinge of pain lurks in his voice, gives me a split second of pause before my sense of urgency pushes my body along to the next important task.

 

"--err, Tony. No. I don't have a shield, and I am definitely not one, either." He seems satisfied from what I can tell by peering over the couch from my post at the kitchen sink.

In the corner of an eye I catch the patches of frostbite on his right hand.  
_That was the one he was using to carry the suit..._ I grab a mixing bowl from the counter and fill it up with warm water. By the time I arrive by his side I find his eyes three fourths closed and mouth fully agape. -- _Prime drooling posture. Fantastic._ \-- Reluctant to wake him up again I set the bowl down as quietly as I can.

 

His breath rushes in as I take his hand and inspect it. I glance back at him from the corner of my eye, already fearing his disapproval. His eyes barely flutter open as I guide his hand below him, into the bowl.

"I am pretty s-sure this is a party f-foul-..." he nearly successfully slurs out.

 

"Frostburn. Gotta normalize the tissue temp." I make direct eye contact with him for a moment, assertive and matter-of-fact, before my eyes flick down to the skin twitching in tremors over his abdomen. The shivers which seem more like full-on body convulsions are farther apart now. -- _Good, he's undoubtedly warming up._

I sit silently beside him, mulling over the thought of his suit landing 'deadstick'-- _how did he avoid shattering bones? what if he has internal bleeding??--_  as he wrestles with his own muscles for control. My hands work on soaking a bloodstained and worn-thin shirt with hydrogen peroxide. Mr. Stark's hand coaxes the bowl of warm water off balance as he jerks himself out of a struggle to stay awake. A wavelet of water sloshes out and across the simple wooden floor. I sigh under my breath and sop the offending puddle up with a spare washcloth.

"You're making this difficult." I scold him halfheartedly, voice low and soft with the rounded corners of tired humor.

 

"It's a talent." He smirks bitterly- too bitterly for the humor I had attempted to convey.

 

Our resting place is quite warm in front of the wood stove like this. _Perhaps too hot to sleep well,_ I muse. I reach deftly over and close the floe just a bit. The tongues of fire shrink from a bright yellow to soft orange, deep popping and crackling sounds punctuate the calm silence as the logs settle in, and I find an opportunity to inspect him more closely in the dimming flickers of firelight and steady soft blue glow beneath his face.

Within fifteen minutes he is asleep again- body too exhausted not to- despite how hungry and dehydrated he must be. _Tomorrow's gonna be a doozy of a hangover for him._ His hair has dried out, the snow and perspiration having washed out what smelled unmistakably like hair gel- I'd noted the scent somewhere in the mix of booze and sweat earlier. As a result, his ropes of sweaty mahogany hair curl and wave ever so slightly, provided they are long enough to do so. Flecks of white hair form timid colonies around his temples.

_Saving the Earth must be a terrific burden._

My mind runs away as I slowly wind back down.

 _I_ _'ve hardly had a chance before now to notice just how… symmetrical… he is._ This is the highest compliment, in biological terms of course.  
_He's ...stunning. Absolutely gorgeous-_ I am surprised at the contradicting basis of this thought-- I value the irrevocable reality of his vulnerability much more highly than the controlled, measured aesthetic of his retouched photos or videos in magazines or advertisements. Even the snoring didn't faze me.

My eyes wander of their own accord down to the arc reactor. The cautious cynic in me tries to change the track of my train of thought by focusing on science. 

 _What a fascinating concept that is. I'll have to look further into it when I get back to Massachusetts…_ It occurs too late to me that I might be able to converse later on with this amazing intellect lying limp on my couch. A long, slow sigh falls through my lips as I gather my psyche.

 _It's tea time._ I choose to comply with my growling stomach, rather than keep him awake for my own selfish education.

 


	2. Catalyst

 

 

 

**4:00am, Dec 29th, 2018--Upstate Pennsylvanian woods.**

_God have mercy, my ass hurts._

My eyes snap open again.  I had been slumped on the floor, back up against the chair I should've chosen to fall asleep in. Instead I spent the last few minutes before sleep pounced thinking about the cat I drug in a few hours ago. _What should we eat--_ .

I'm suddenly yanked out of my train of thought and stricken with anxiety as I catch movement from the couch. Stark shifts uneasily at the shoulders, twitching, his face screwed up into a dreaming and tragic frown. I sit up quietly, entranced by this, and a wave of panic takes my breath away as it rolls cold and salty over my head. 

"Pep…" His lips form the sound as though possessed. His eyes crack with crow's feet as he flinches, wiggles a bit as though he's trying to leap out of a body made of concrete. I'm certain I see the arc reactor pulse brightly just before I hear a _sploosh_ as he rips his frostbitten hand out of the bowl of water, nearly knocking it over. My hands fly up to clasp over my mouth, suppressing the urge to draw breath and loose a quick, startled scream in the throes of nonsensical terror- guilt and regret slither under the surface of the strange panic menacingly.

The bowl sets about righting itself with indignance. Stark's nostrils flare, sucking in a sharp, needy gasp as one might when breaking into the air after fighting the inexorable pull of a riptide. A sleep-weak scream builds up in his chest, struggles up his throat, blasts from his cracked lips-- "PEPPER NO!!" His torso rises in an automatic attempt to bring his face up into the air but his ankle quickly protests, the sharp pain waking him ruthlessly from the edges of nightmare.

Rusted steel eyes are bleary, blood red and watering heavily as he comes to understand where he is, remembers the past moments of pain and the coming struggle of his mending. His lips are closed tight again not only in punishment from his wounds but much more than this, the burning sorrow in his heart.

 _I felt every bit of the loss in his cry. Why?_   _If I can't keep a lid on this, it's going to cause some serious problems._  Tortured brown-red eyes lock onto mine- he catches a glimpse of my face as I attempt to be placid and emotionless on the outside, and fail miserably.

"I'm …I…didn't mean to scare..." A terrible attempt at deflection stutters from his lips. I watch the micro-expressions behind his eyes as he considers his current course and thinks better of it. Stark resigns to closing his now minutely trembling lips tightly again, opting for a forced and ill formed deadpan.  He lies back down fully, letting his gasping breath rush out with a hiss from his nose.

"Nothing to be scared of." I lie on the coattails of his words, boldfaced. Gravelly aftershocks of fear still scrape into my chest. My heart is tight. I feel the ghosts of his anguish burrow stubbornly inside of me.

 _Fantastic. Just when I'd thought I could keep it under control_. I think I see a tear roll from his eye, plink down beside his sweaty face on the cushion. _\-- I must be mistaken._ \--He strains to keep his lips from trembling, and I sense his struggle to hide the after effects of that night terror as clearly as if it was simply an erratic, brooding brushstroke on a canvas.  _I wish I could tell him that there was no need to explain._

 _Welp...how about a little impromptu mental exercise?_ I notice my quickened breathing and my eyelids fall shut gradually in an effort to focus. Slowly I withdraw into myself, concentrating on a treasure trove of secure and happy memories-- my childhood. _Wheat fields…harvest in the summer sunlight…my father repairing the combine… the smell of ball bearing grease… the sound of the wind whipping against the endless golden grass…_ I search for my 'happy place'. My mind wanders to a memory of first learning to drive the old, turquoise blue farm truck. I smile a bit, gather this energy up, feel it flow from me and soak slowly into him, not quite perfect but compatible, like oil into a dry sponge. My mouth salivates to wash away a wave of sour taste, like bile from nausea. _I've got to keep my mind off that little…outburst._

"Are you thirsty?" I mutter, opting to busy myself with his care.

Stark's head tilts minutely forward, his gaze resting on some point behind me, not quite meeting my eyes. _Perhaps he's as afraid of eye contact as I am right now._  He's dazed but certain in his affirmation. I pour more water into the teapot, turn up the stove. I follow his brown eyes to the firelight, he lets himself become instantly entranced by dancing tongues of flame. I know he is reflecting on the dream, or whatever past event had caused it, but at least he feels calmer... _more numb_... now.

"What about hungry?" I call from the kitchen. He musters the strength to hum a noncommittal half-grunt, never removing his attention from the wood burning stove. The guilt beginning to swell inside the room burns at my nose like smelling salts.

_I have to take his mind off of it somehow._

Strangely, ever since I was a child I suspected that I was different because of how easily I picked up on emotions and empathized. As it turned out, I was a mutant- though I had examined my own DNA much more recently, and had kept the results to myself. My power, so I thought, was terribly mundane-- I called myself an 'empath', with the ability to implicitly feel the emotions of others around me, and to manipulate them with my own. When I was younger, the emotions which leaked into me from others would occasionally overwhelm me, and I didn't know enough about emotional amplification to understand what part of that was my own doing. Now, however, I could control my own emotions quite well, but rarely did I reach into the minds of others.

 _This… this is different. HE is different from everyone else. I can't shut him off._ _I'm beginning to feel like one large frayed nerve with this man._ I take a deep breath and sigh, imagining some of the tension and bile in my heart slide away upon exhaling.  _Is it me? Have I lost the ability to distance myself? Maybe I'm getting sick._ Scenarios flash through my mind for the reason why my powers, which had always been as predictable as the inner workings of gravity once understood, suddenly switched polarity on me.

"Bird in a basket it is, then." I say, mostly to myself, as I grab the eggs from my fridge and fire up another burner on my gas stove. As I cut a loaf of homemade bread and spread the butter over it, I am on autopilot, mind racing. _What should I do?_ The guilt grows thicker, like pepper spray being carried on the wind. I cough audibly.

 _I've got to do something. No time to meditate… maybe I'd better take this head on and see what happens…_ _but_ _it seems unwise to poke the elephant in the room_.  _Still, this could turn into one nightmare of a positive feedback loop if I don't do SOMETHING._

"Did...she die?" My heart hammers against my chest as the words tumble out of my lips and clunk clumsily against the walls. The fire-licked logs pop in annoyance at such a brazen question. His eyes turn away from the fire and up towards me. Blinking, he stares just for a moment.

"Yes." Heavy silence.

"When??"

"December 12th... two years ago." His voice breaks in and out, gruff and still exhausted. A wave of angst floods the room. _\--Here it comes--_ I stand for a moment, tears blurring my vision, salty and itchy and hot. The teapot, appropriately, begins to sigh- then howl- then screech. Snippets of a memory flash across my eyes unbidden through the sorrowful vice around my heart. Umbrellas, icy rain, a coffin…Stark standing, cold as stone- helpless, alone despite the throngs of friends and fellow grievers…

 _Remember when I used to cry? When I used to lay my head in my mother's lap and she'd sing to me?_ I go into damage control mode, remembering after a long moment to flip the egg on the stove. I close my eyes and isolate this emotion. It's comfort. It's love-- it's knowing that everything seems irreversible but that it would be alright somehow, even if I don't know how. I summon up as much of the complex, ethereal emotion as I can muster, and take a deliberately slow breath. As I exhale, I open my eyes and meet Stark's faraway, glazed over gaze, and I project that feeling like a lighthouse in a monsoon of pain. Irises of glassy dark chocolate become more alert as my effort soaks gradually into his very essence. The storm calms uneasily after a few seconds of sputtering suspense.

_Holy shit. I don't know how many more times I can do that before my own power gets the better of me. What in the HELL is going on, Lauren? Get ahold of yourself. You're going to cause the very thing you're... terrified of._

I flip the egg-toast mutant onto a plate and pour some of the teapot's life essence into a giant cup. The scent of the rooibos tea leaves inside floods my nose with a feeling like home. _Tea. Tea fixes everything._ As I bring it to his side, I'm relieved to find that the stink of guilt only reaches me within a foot of his presence. I try to ignore it as I set his nourishment on the wooden coffee table next to where he lay. He reaches up naturally with his right hand, the frostbite shining like red oil on his skin, and my hand stretches out and takes his wrist before he can grab the fork. He stares at me, annoyed, confused.

"I need to wrap that up now, before you get something on it. Really I should have done that hours ago--It'll only take a second." While I am naturally the most confident person you'd ever know, I feel small in his presence. I constantly feel the need to explain myself, which annoys me to no end. _Is that from his own emotion? It's too faint to tell._ I shake my head, realizing I am still holding his hand. Pools of dark, glazed brown stare motionlessly at me- forced deadpan flickers unexpectedly tender like the sharp glow of a lightning strike. As I force myself to focus again on the task at hand, I reach back into my bag at the foot of the couch to find another bandage.

 _I'm goin' coo coo for Cocoa Puffs here. Keep a lid on it._ My stomach turns at the anxiety of fighting his feelings.

Soon he is eating-- slowly at first, as it's awkward with a wrapped hand and no way to move his other arm with the local injection of anesthesia still working its way out of his system. Seeing him struggle, I plop down on my knees next to him, grab the fork from his hand, and cut up the meal myself. I can feel a tingling hint of shame from his eyes, but he's still too damned tired to protest.

"Don't be prideful." I mutter almost under my breath. "You're practically mummified at my hands…Tony…" _damn, I am still struggling with that name…_ "...it's only fair." I note, holding up a bite for him to open his mouth and accept. A little sigh makes his nostrils flare but he complies- it gets a little less embarrassing for him with every bite. He has to drink his tea from a bendy straw without any aid from me, however, and the sight is so awkward that I would have giggled had it not been for how tired I am from staying on emotional guard. After the last bite, I set the plate back down. Satiated, his chest heaves in a heavy sigh, brown eyes half lidded and glowing in firelight. The arc reactor pulses steadily as it's carried by the tide of his chest.

"That…was pretty damn good…Lauren." He closes his eyes in the firelight like a cat lounging in a sunbeam. I smile when I am certain he cannot see my face.  _Oh stop, Lauren._  My eyes roll internally. _You'd think his praise actually meant something. He's crash landed and stranded in your cabin and he complimented your eggs. Whoopty doo._

Finally somewhat comfortable, sleep overtakes him. It proves to be a dreamless one, because an hour after that I drift off again, hunched clumsily on the loveseat beside him. No more tsunamis of emotion return to rip me from my dreams tonight.


	3. Feedback

**Dec 29th 2018, 10:00 am - Upstate Pennsylvania woods**

My eyes snap open, an intensely warm, bright yellow shaft of light assaulting them. The memory of the past six hours seeps back into the recesses of my mind, along with the anxious thought that I may have slept too long-- _how long had it been??-_ while watching over this emotionally raw and physically tattered man. My senses flood in but I can't make much sense of them for the first moments of wakefulness. A few deep breaths later, my full consciousness fades into clarity and I understand the light pouring into my cabin's deck windows.

Tony- as he wants me so desperately to call him- is still asleep, in much the same position as he had been when I'd closed my eyes.

 _T_ _ony. Finally feeling like my level of familiarity with him deems such a first-name referral as…somewhat less inappropriate._ My eyes wander unbidden over the surface of his hair, glowing different shades of golden, reddish brown as the sunlight plays off his head. A small sunbeam catches the tips of his eyelashes, lights up his placid eyebrows.                

His shoulder and stomach, from here, look to be stitched nicely- little blood has managed to soak into the antimicrobial gauze wrappings I had placed on him after drawing his skin together. I can't see his ankle well, but it still looks elevated. _I forgot to start him on painkiller…shit._ I smack my forehead in pantomime quietly from skipping such an easy step in treating his wounds. _But then again… it's hard to tell how his liver would react after being basted in brandy. Might've been a lucky mistake._

My gaze is magnetically drawn to Tony's arc reactor, stealing what time it can before he awakens and I am not allowed to openly stare. The disc, surrounded in pinkish white scar tissue, burns a steady white blue as his chest rises and falls peacefully.

 _Hadn't I heard news a few years ago that he was scheduled for surgery to repair the need for one of those?_ _Perhaps I had dreamt it._ His frostbite hasn't oozed through the bandage from what I can tell, and this is a very good thing. _It hadn't looked so severe anyhow, sometimes I go a bit overboard._ Nighttime has a way of digging into my natural predilection for anxiety. Problems which crop up at night rarely seem as manageable as they really are in the morning light. _He's bound to have a lot of tissue to regenerate. I might as well go about my morning._ I get up and pad over to the kitchen as quietly as possible, and put another pot of tea on.

As soon as the teapot begins to sound its alarm I take it off the fire and pour the steaming liquid into my favorite cup. Taking a deep breath, I listen to the almost rhythmic rush of the mountain air in the trees outside the kitchen window, the occasional chirping of the birds brave enough to stay north for the winter. _Every morning is beautiful up here, even after the longest nights…_ I smile to myself as I glance back over at Stark. He's beginning to stir- I faintly taste confusion on the back of my tongue. It's a bit like oily brine, but it doesn't sicken me. In a practiced motion, I pour him a cup of tea and pad back over to him, setting his teacup gently beside him on the table.

He doesn't open his eyes until I'm unzipping the duffel bag 'emergency' kit within arm's reach to dig out some pain medicine. The confusion slithers away from the back of my throat as he looks around, finding the chair I was sitting in, and then the sunbeam now hitting him in the face, lighting his irises up as though they were glowing rich fire-gold on their own. I only catch the beauty of the color for a moment- the second I become aware of the warm, tingly aura I am accidentally emitting from the sight, I pull frantically back on my feelings. He quickly squints and pulls his frost nipped mummy hand up to shield his eyes. Mild annoyance seeping from him pinches at my toes like tiny crabs on a beach.

"I'll take care of that in a moment, Tony." _Getting more natural every time I say it._ I'm proud of myself about this, underneath my self-sarcasm, oddly- but I don't feel I have the time to devote in order to find out why. I resume digging in my duffel, a bit more loudly now that I know he's already alert, trying not to become distracted by the increasing volatility of my empathic powers. The pill bottles chatter their indignant reply as I throw them one by one back into the black hole of a bag.

 _Coumadin.._ *Rattle*

 _Ampicillin… *_ Rattle*

 _Where the hell…_ *RATTLE*

… _AH! Perfect!_ I have the good fortune to find a nearly full bottle of 10mg Vicodin. I had forgotten it was there after last year's hiking incident.

"What's that, more magic?" Tony's rusty baritone voice breaks me out of my pleasantly surprised trance- I've been staring at the bottle now in my hand for an indeterminate amount of time, wondering how sensitive he happens to be to this dosage. His question pulls me firmly back into the present moment.

"Painkiller. Vicodin." My attention moves innocently from the bottle into his sleep bleary gaze, and that's when I get stuck.  
  
I don't understand quite what it is about his eyes which completely disarms me, which dismantles all my carefully constructed empathic wards. Intuition whispered from the beginning that his gaze could pierce, but overnight, I had quickly forgotten that he would have plenty of time to test my strategies against his eye contact once he had a chance to recover sufficiently.

Unfortunately, I've been caught off guard, like the cliched deer in his deep brown headlights. Lightning charges up and down my spine, something I've not felt for many-- _too many--_ years. He stares unabashedly into me, not deterred by my willingness to meet his eyes, but rather emboldened by it. A completely observational expression plays over his lips as he licks them absently, no smile or frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. My demeanor, I am certain, is one of wonder. A hint of indulgent pleasure flits across my lips as, deep down at my very core, a piece of me cries out for something beyond the last few long years of research and mind breaking work. 

_Be careful Lauren. Dancing with fire will burn you._

This stare is quickly turning into a bit of a contest, as well as an impromptu way to reflect on our standing with each other so far. Something warm caresses the base of my spine, the same entry point as the volley of lightning which struck moments before. The feeling radiates from there, winding down my legs and up my back.

 _It feels like someone has been weaving silk from the sunbeams pouring in and has decided to wrap it around me._ I begin to stare though him as I consider how confusing the sensation is.   _Wait._ _What…?_ My own hints of unfamiliarity need to be stifled to truly savor and observe the original emotion. Ruthless lightning ripples over me once more, gripping my heart into a gallop. I notice my heavy breath, despite not having moved a millimeter in a good 20 seconds or so. Stark's arc reactor pulses faintly in my peripheral vision- my main focus continues, stubbornly, to be his gaze.

_Is this… feedback?_

Lithe muscle shifts under the skin of Tony's neck as he swallows loudly, lips still showing a perfect poker face, mahogany eyes ever presented towards me as though if he stopped trying to read my soul, the world would end. My eyes flick down to take note of the crests of his cheekbones, the flat of his chest- both are growing noticeably flushed. I observe the radiating heat of my skin as my body responds gradually, following suit.

_This is **definitely** feedback._

It's the first time I've experienced such a thing without it being inherently malicious. The scientist in me is reluctant to end it before I know whether it is helpful, harmful or benign. The wounded skeptic in me suspects it will end poorly if such a trend goes on much longer.

"Do…you _need_ some?"  --The words fall from my lips slowly, as a foreign language might. "Vicodin." I over-clarify. My voice is nearly uncontrollably soft, low.

_Sultry._

_He knows you're talking about Vicodin you idiot. Right? Surely he knows that. What else could you possibly even mean?_ A thought, a realization about this situation is scratching at the back door of my mind, but his hypnotizing gaze remains steady and too fascinating to answer the call. His head nods slowly, almost imperceptibly.

"I can't...stop." He rumbles at a whisper, voice soft and smooth and flowing like melting butter, the utterance more for himself than my ears, I note. The growling of his breath triggers something. A ghostly hand, strong as steel and radiating with electric warmth has reached into my chest and is squeezing the wind from me, snatching the words from my lips, the lucid thoughts from my mind. Cutting lightning grows stronger, calling out and answering itself with the thunder of my core muscles beginning to tremble, my body responding fully, a conduit of blood and breath and… _and…_

_...And what?_

I finally break free of his mesmerizing stare and my gaze runs in flickers of heat unhindered down his nose, past his lips, to the divot between his clavicals...past his arc reactor. Electric fire races through me, throbbing with power as my flitting attention wanders near the wisps of dark, soft hair at his navel. He lays perfectly still under the scrutiny, and I can sense him looking directly into me, through me, up and down. _I_ _s he... mirroring me?_ A mercurial notion that things have already gotten far too deep surfaces as the blanket hanging haphazardly over his hips moves on its own, just barely. My body vibrates with thunder. A hand grasps for the armrest somewhere behind me as I sit back on the recliner instinctively. I do not trust my body to do what I command it anymore.

Again his tongue slides over full lips, nostrils flaring briefly, smelling the spice of my feelings like a wild animal. Where his gaze was seemingly steady into mine just moments before, now his eyes travel endlessly, hungrily across my face, my body. My gut jumps at the attention, pulls tight in a delicious tension bordering pain.

_Lust…_

I place a word squarely on the heart of the emotions swirling around us what seems like a lifetime of moments later, feeling a bit like a zombie who has only enough brain left to form that word.

 _This has got to stop._ My skeptic has successfully won the battle with the scientist inside me. _This feedback won't end well. Neither of us are in any position to take such a tantalizing-_ I blink, regathering my willpower _-dangerous step._

The merry-go-round of raw sexual feedback between us is jarred by my awakening efforts to get off the ride. Like dragging my finger over a spinning top, the constant lightning begins to strike less and less frequently. It's inherently ridiculous that something as simple as eye contact makes us both feel like we're being pulled inexorably into the undertow of sexual desire. The absurdity of this whole moment flits across my face in a fast-fading smirk of amusement, disbelief.

 _At the very least he hasn't thought about-_ A twinge of guilt drops like crude oil into the midst of this subsiding lust-flood.

 _There it is. Pepper._ Something in my guts roils suddenly, effectively throwing me from the still slowly spinning carnival ride of heated tension.

I'm at the blinds in an instant, recalling that I had promised him this shortly before turning to stone under his Medusa gaze. I clear my throat as softly as possible, instinctively certain that if I do so loudly I will be admitting my temporary transformation into searing, red-hot electric granite. Taking a second to refocus, I unscrew the Vicodin's cap and shake one out.

"Here." My fingers make a valiant effort not to shake as I extend the chalky little pill in his general direction.

Calloused fingers brush rough, clammy warmth against the pads of my hand as he takes a bit too long to grasp the pill. Waxing ironically nonchalant, his gaze turns to the plain mug beside him as grabs what's left of his tea to wash it down.

"Are you hungry again? Because that won't be too funny on an empty stomach." My voice strengthens over time as I put effort into letting the heat dissipate from my bones.  _It's not like he doesn't already know this, you know._ I chastise myself for being too motherly.

Stark's eyes find mine again inevitably. He doesn't even need to say it, because he has realized, somehow, that I already had.

"That… bird in a…bucket or whatever you called it was fantastic… but maybe I'd better try it again, just to make sure." I catch a sliver of a glinting white canine tooth in this smirk.

 _Definitely making some progress here._ _Good…_ I mentally praise myself, in denial about the whole exchange.

"As you wish." I nod, and turn to walk back into the kitchen. A muted mix of longing and guilt nips at the back of my neck as I go. "So what  _exactly_ brought you out here last night?" The last of my probing words are almost drowned out by the sudden sizzle of the skillet. Half of me hopes he didn't hear the question. He hesitates. A small amount of shame leaks into me and sits at the back of my throat. Nonetheless, he clears his throat and forces a reply.

"Brandy did."

My breath rushes out of my nostrils in a nervously amused snort. "Ah so it _was_ brandy I smelled."

He peers guiltily past the couch back and frowns a bit. "You smelled it?"

"I did. Is that surprising?"

"It had been three hours since my last drink… I had been hiking for what..." Stark's voice catches for a moment in indecision. "-what must have been like a half hour more. It is surprising."

I flip the egg-toast without looking down. His surprise actually surprises _me_ a bit. "So you didn't get into a fight with a pack of wookies. I'd imagine that was the _ground_ that tore up your suit." Pearl teeth glisten from the couch for a split second at my weakly nerdy attempt at humor.

"No Banner to catch me this time…" he mutters. I can barely make out the words under the sizzling hiss of the skillet. Muddled, icy sorrow pulls at my chest a bit as I take up his second breakfast. He watches me silently on the path back to his side, frozen crystals tugging at the back of my throat. 

_I am exhausted._

"I really cannot wait until that Vicodin kicks in for you, Tony." A tired smile drives my point home. "The brandy I can understand… how you ended up in your suit in such a condition…"

Hard, volatile brown eyes snap back into mine as my words stumble over an invisible line- they chastise me on the surface even as they try desperately to speak to me, to whisper something he can't even bring himself to admit explicitly. A premonition- strong and clear- flashes within me.

 _He..._   _wanted_ _...to die._ I cannot stop my eyes from widening minutely. _Well… that's new._

The duplication and manipulation of present emotion is something I'd known I could do my whole life. However, this… instant understanding-- _no, premonition--_ of something I wished to know is entirely novel. I trust this feeling instinctively, something I've been raised and trained never to do. _I'll need to test it somehow before I can truly take...whatever just happened at face value._ _The implications are… unsettling enough if I'm right_. By the time I've worked through what I have just perceived, Tony has already finished his meal. He doesn't deign to meet my gaze again as I snap back to reality, and I'm strangely unsure of how to proceed.

"I'd like to take a look at the Mark 42, if I could." The subject change is obvious as he shifts uncomfortably, giving me a cursory glance simply as a courtesy while addressing me. He clears his throat meekly, almost as an afterthought. My lips tighten into a tense smile and I nod submissively.

"I should have some crutches around here…" I mumble as I slide out of my chair and shuffle to a closet, feeling awkward…and deeply concerned. Soon enough, I find the crutches from the same injury I acquired Vicodin for buried in the back of my utility closet, leaning dejectedly, forlorn in disuse.

The frustration in Tony's whispered curses floats around me as I watch him inspect the twisted metal on my kitchen counter. From what I can tell, the …booster thingies… on his left boot and gauntlet have been crushed by some incredible impact- likely gravity's toll. I'm impressed that given the gashes and dents the suit had sustained, Tony came out of that forest as well off as he had. _Brandy's fault I'd bet._ _If there's anything to be learned from drunk driving statistics, it's that a body too inebriated to react tends to do well in a crash._

His head slides into his hands as he props himself up on the butcher block. I move to ask if I might help, but before I can utter the thought I know the answer. _Biotech is just too far removed from mechanical and electrical engineering to be useful here._ Tony picks up his head with a deep sigh, slides his fingers in slow resignation around the crutches, and clicks his way back over to the couch, wincing as he falls back onto it. His frustration and jagged regret begin to slither around my heart. _This'll be a trial by fire_... _it's becoming more and more clear that I'll get more than enough empathic practice in with him here._


	4. Acceptance?

Dec 29th 2018, 10:20 am - Upstate Pennsylvania woods

 

"Listen." I begin, closing my eyes and drawing breath in for a struggle. 

_To fight inexorable circumstance is folly--_ I remind myself to remain calm, then begin to slow my mind down and project the serenity I've been saving up since his request to see the suit.

I can feel his gaze searching me, but I choose to keep my eyes shut despite my curiosity. "At first, I wanted to get you and your… Mark 42… up and running as fast as possible so I might get back to my vacation."

_Silence. Sunlight. Warmth._ I focus on the welcoming traits of the place we're in. Tony shifts on the couch, agitated, weary.

"Even though I'd normally find it stupid and contrived to ascribe human intent to a natural world, on some level I can't help but feel you're meant to be stuck here with me." The calm leeches from me, and I nudge it along with the now well-established current between us. He's having trouble accepting it- I redouble my efforts. "It would be such a shame if neither of us learned from this, don't you think?"

Tony finally sits back, eyelashes drooping heavily to shade his faraway gaze. _Perhaps the Vicodin is starting to take hold as well._

I gather up another line of silky calm, feel it float like a spider's web along our current. "It seems clear from your reactions and my lack of… butane torches and soldering irons and whatnot, that the suit is beyond repair for the moment. But panic…doesn't serve either one of us well, Mr.-- Stark."

I catch myself as the last syllable hits him and he winces again. Crackling orange pain shoots up the spider's silk and stings me before sizzling out.

 

"You're right."  He props his swollen ankle back up where it had been with the twitch of a grimace.

 

"Sorry… Tony." My correction comes far too late. Wistful longing washes from his eyes into the air around me like a salty perfume.

 

"You sound... _just like_ her when you say it like that…" His reply is unsure, conciliatory. Vicodin is beginning to loose his tongue. "I mean Pepper...when you call me Mr. Stark." He clarifies further, though there is no need.

 

_Like Pepper._ For a moment, I wish I had known her-- just to understand the virtues that clearly tied him to her so tightly, that turned him from the smarmy, cocky billionaire bachelor of his popular public image into this crumpled, hopeless widower. Some reptilian part of me wants to make him forget her completely. _I know better than to try that._

 

His head falls back in defeat, a weak form of helpless rage pulsing from him at the movement. "All those suits… All those _fucking_ suits." He growls, almost too low to hear, spittle flying from his teeth as his lips wrap around the expletive. "None of them helped her when she needed it…needed _me_." 

 

My brow furrows, I react without thinking- "I know it hurts. It always will-as far as I can tell…" The faintest whisper of warm silk tugs against the dark grayed regret he's oozing, coaxing me into the role of the caregiver again.  _Who's influencing who here??_  

Lost in my own thoughts, I'm pulling the blanket over his lap, my fingers grazing over the gauze on his wounds, betraying the vague hope that I can at least heal _them_ somehow.

"It will dull. Give it time." The soft phrase  I sigh out is meant for both of us.

 

Cracked lips are locked in an eternal frown now, gaunt face turned away, demoralized that someone else can obviously see how broken he is inside. Tony's gaze burns an invisible hole into the ceiling above my kitchen.

 

I can only stare into his brightly glowing arc reactor--the watery tang of bittersweet grief almost flows like syrup from the center of his chest. My hand is still resting on the skin just above his stomach wound, thumb almost touching the reactor while I'm compelled to soak it away from him in compassion. I turn down to stare in uncertain disapproval at the disobedient limb, but can't find a good reason to withdraw it.

_The thrumming of something so powerful through flesh is so alien, so enthralling… even so, I can still make out his heartbeat._ Slowly I become aware of the warmth under my other hand, resting on his shoulder. _Such a strange thing, to have someone who should be a stranger accept such a violation of personal space so easily._

_I'm not one to be touchy, either. In the ER I did as I had to, in friendships I am often distant at best._ _T_ _his… it feels so contradictorily right_. _What's more-- he doesn't rail against it, or even resist._

I can feel his burning gaze again but I attempt to ignore it. Deep in unfamiliar territory, I refuse to admit my position by eye contact.

One disobedient finger begins to trace the metal ring fused with skin embedded in his chest. Scar tissue alternates smooth and gnarled, the warmth more mechanical than biological under a single finger. The way Tony's stomach flexes reflexively at the touch is startling to me-- _can he feel this, I wonder? I thought scar tissue this traumatized would have been numb long ago--_ but something in the way a honed stake of electric current pierces my heart, in the way his forearms erupt into goose-flesh tells me the action isn't unwanted.

"Such overwhelming odds…" I whisper, entranced, thinking on the stories that had circulated when he had come back from Afghanistan. I feel his shame slinking away as my fingers stop tracing, right hand coming to rest pressed gently against his breastbone. What's flooding up in place of it? Curiosity, certainly. A bit of pride, perhaps from the back of my own mind after realizing what strength he must've had to endure what he did.

_There's always that other feeling… it's…indescribable. I need to find out precisely what it is._  
  
After a long moment, when the shame is almost undetectable, I find the courage to look into his eyes. Openly meeting his gaze makes him squint just a bit as he tries to understand why I'm so enthralled by him, and perhaps vice versa.

_In spite of the faint glint of keen interest in his eyes, the gaunt skin falling over his cheekbones looks so... exhausted._ I regret silently that I cannot soak up his weariness along with his guilt, or anger, or sorrow.

My hand picks up from his shoulder, deciding the previous foray around the reactor was not enough of a risk. It cards fingers fluidly through his hair, front to back- a nearly maternal gesture of unspoken concern.

I had been bracing for Tony to stare me down, but glowing fire-brown eyes shift down and away easily, almost as if to concentrate on the feeling. For a long moment he peers out through lazy eyelashes and warm, electrified silk sifts through my chest- but this time, I am undoubtedly taking it in, not emanating it. Gradually, he closes his eyelids, completely accepting my comfort. _Incredible..._  His chest rises sharply and heaves as he sighs the deep chested breath that always comes before completely giving in to unconsciousness. My fingers twitch, flighty at his movement, considering retreat before they gather up the will to pull through his hair again slowly, ever so cautiously.

 Sleep overtakes Tony slowly, and I can't stop toying with the threads of silky mahogany until I am certain he won't wake up when I leave. The moment I notice sun silk dropping off into cold, peaceful nothingness, I can barely get out of the cabin fast enough.

 

_What is this, huh? What am I doing?--_ I can practically hear the stern, frantic tone my inner voice is taking.

I curse myself as I slip outside to light a cigarette with a shaky hand. The sun is being swallowed slowly by dark grey clouds. The wind bites at my nose and denies the fragile flame of my lighter any sort of lifespan.

_More snow. Shit. How am I supposed to get back into town like this?_ I turn around to block the wind. _How long can I be around him before I drive us both insane?_

*click*

_…I've never been so easily agitated…_

*click*

… _why, of all people, is he getting to me??.._

*click*-- "God _damn_ it." I hiss steam and venom into the frozen air.

The lighter finally pulls through, as though it hears me wishing dire things on it and its offspring. I close my eyes slowly as I take a long drag.

_Is this frustration his or mine?_   _I'm not even sure where these emotions are coming from. That, more than anything else in the last 24 hours, unsettles me the most._ Smoke, and then vapor, bursts from my lips as I walk to the railing of my porch and peer out at the woods, trying to center myself. _I'm beginning feel like a hormone crazed teenager- no control over bouncing between angst and sexual tension, no middle ground, just a constant barrage of extremes._

I wonder precisely what it is I hope to get out of this whole situation. At first my directive was clear, and part of it still is- to fix this broken man, at worst physically, at best mentally, and send him on his way. Yet, I have to admit that I am falling for him, and judging on what directional movement I can make out from my empathic sense, he's not opposed to the idea.

_Fucking Florence Nightingale._

_This makes no logical sense at all._ _Clearly- even two years later- he's not even close to being over the death of his…wife? lover? Whatever. Even if he were, I don't know him from a hole in the wall. Love at first sight is NOT a thing. Not in my world._ _Although ...it_ has _been over 7 years since I last knew someone who evoked such animalistic tendencies in me--_

\-- _Remember how that ended?_   I wince a bit.

_A tenured professorship at MIT barely affords me this vacation, and it's at the cost of my sanity as I attempt to catch up when it's over. There is no time for relationships-- I am married to the college. Even aside from that, any prospective partner has seemed too… intimidated by my position. Such a crock of crap. Apparently smart women are something to be feared. The point is moot, anyhow. No sense in being bitter from a choice that I had consciously made._

_So what now?_

I sigh deeply and try to regain emotional balance.

_It's going to be a week before he can even put weight on that leg, and months before he can make the hike back to town with me, and there is NO way either of us has that kind of time…_ I need to hike as soon as I could back to town and contact someone who can help him get back home. _Leaving him alone…with suicidal tendencies._

At this point, I am probably overreacting. The previous premonition about his mental state has frazzled me immensely, however. I draw the last drag of my cigarette greedily and peer, suspicious, at the slate sky.

_Please let this be a small flurry. Just once._

Digging the spent filter into my ashtray, I shuffle back inside.


	5. Special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rec Drug use---- hide yo' kids, hide yo' wife.

Dec 29th 2018, 2:30pm - Upstate Pennsylvania woods

I've just finished washing Tony's shirt in the sink and am hanging it up, slashes and faded bloodstains be damned, so it can dry near the wood stove. Salty brine hits the back of my throat as I feel him stirring again. The confusion vanishes quickly this time, thankfully. I hear his breath suck in through the happy cracks and pops of the new wood I've stoked the fire with and he sits up slowly, wincing as he does.

"That was my favorite shirt." He grumbles sleepily, the words more like chunks of gravel than sounds.

 

I trace the tear in the fabric where his stomach had been with an idle finger. It's a vintage Black Sabbath shirt, but it looks more gruesome than vintage now, with the 'sabbath' wording tinged rust brown from his blood.

"I hate blood stains." I sigh ruefully, thinking aloud.

 

"They like me…" He smirks, the barest hint of beleaguered acceptance in his tone.

 

"It's not a good look for you, though."

I turn and sink back into my post on the recliner, eyeing the gauze on his wounds and hand idly.

 

"So I've been told." Tony's staring through me, at a point somewhere about my chest. He's clearly miles away. "I wonder if Jarvis has tried to find me yet." He mutters absently, softly, after a long pause.

 

"Jarvis?"  _Let's see, fifty fifty chance it's a dog or a butler._

 

"He's the AI who runs my household. He's also a large part of the system in my suits but I...ahh...something… caused a short…" The further into the sentence he goes, the softer his voice falls, unsure--  _Whether he's uncertain about the details of the crash or simply how much to reveal of it remains to be seen..._

 

"Were you flying low?" _The air was clear last night…_ He shakes his head 'no', still staring through me, but his eyes seem to grow softer as he does, more passive.

 

"High...Thirty two thousand feet." He clears his throat, the cartilage bobbing up and down erratically, as though he's being choked gradually. "My navigation would have put me about 30 miles south of where we are now when it went… dark." An intrusive pang of fear slices through me on the last word from his lips, like an assassin's knife, but it dissolves as quickly as it had come.

 

"That _really is_ one hell of a suit." I remark quietly, trying not to read too much into that prior flash of emotion.

 _He was undoubtedly at terminal velocity when he crashed-- assuming he wasn't able to get his thrusters back online beforehand._ His line of sight moves over to the crumpled gauntlet still on the kitchen table, then over to the wood stove's flame.

"Who would Jarvis send?" I ask, distracted by the flames, lost in my own thoughts.

 

"Probably Bruce or Steve, if they're not saving the world or something." Tony's words have a sarcastic sort of tang to them at the end. I turn my head to glance at his face as he looks up at me, realizing I am not familiar with his friends on a first name basis. "Banner and Rogers. You know… the Hulk and Captain America?"

 

I can’t help grinning for a bit. _I suppose it would be par for the course that an international superhero would be picked up by yet more of his kind._

 

"What?" He wonders, almost defensively, at my smile.

 

"Oh, nothing… I was just amused at my own stupidity for thinking you'd say the National Guard or something."  _What kind of life that must be._

 His teeth glow in the firelight as he grins for a second himself.

 _Is he truly humored or is that my effect?_ _Usually I would have to consciously project my emotion but he…is like a magnet and I can barely detect my own feelings leeching constantly into him, like tiny iron filings._

_God that smile is beautiful--_

_\--STOP IT._

 

"So... what do you do when you vacation up here?" He clears his throat again as I divert my stare and silently curse the self-conscious blood rushing to my cheeks.

 

"Oh, a lot of things…mostly hiking and reading. I drink tea like I'm made of the stuff and I meditate in the morning and evening most days." I'm staring into the fire again. _Tea sounds good…_ I'm annoyed at my nerves. He's making me feel like an idiot preteen again. "Occasionally I play guitar or the N64, over there." I gesture to the corner where an old Zenith TV collects dust, Super Mario 64 sitting forlornly, ready for me to pay it some attention.

 

Tony's gravelly but enthusiastic laugh leaps back at me. "N64? You're a professor of Biotechnology at MIT and you play N64."

 

"Occasionally, as I said." I feel no need to defend against what I assume is derision.

 

" _Endless_  surprises." He looses a satisfied, possibly snarky sigh.

I get up to make tea again, trying to hide how put off I am. At the corner of my vision I see his head tilt as his gaze follows me across the cabin. "Come on, I never said I didn't _like_ that you were full of surprises." Tony's voice follows me into the kitchen, humming baritone apologies.

 

My gait hitches a bit. "The sentence reeked of disdain--."

 

"You misunderstand me." He counters immediately.

 

" _Do_ I?" I clank the teapot down on the stove and look coolly back at him.

 

"You _do_." He squints in argumentative defiance, the corner of his lips raising to reveal glittering white bone as a peace offering. "We're both children of the 80's...sort of. Okay fine, maybe I was a prodigal preteen by then." he adds, roguish smile growing. "I'll be the first to admit I'm a man-child."

 

I raise my head in half hearted exasperation as I light the stove.

"I fail to conform to any one cookie cutter stereotype, you'll find." I huff. He shrugs and lays back against the couch arm, propping his foot back up.

 

"I suppose that means you won't let me be Luigi, then." Tony feigns disappointment. I barely hold back a chuckle.

 _That's more like what I'd expect him to be…_ _For the first time since he darkened my doorstep, I don't feel so damned worried._

"Honestly though, can I play?" The question rouses me from distraction.

 

I'm not so successful in holding my laugh back this time.

"Let me just finish this, alright?" _Wait! The hash..._ I recall seeing that small plastic canister at the back of my fridge last night, while I frantically grabbed eggs to cook.  _You know_... _maybe this is a good time… I just read a study that linked this to increased tissue regeneration and repair..._

 _...Ah who am I kidding, I just want to see if it helps his mood._ I shrug to myself.

 Idly I pick the canister up and pull the lid off, the vacuum seal making a melodic pop as I do. I feel Tony's gaze rake over me in search of the sound's source as he peers curiously over the back of the couch.

"Would you like some… special tea?" I clear my throat for emphasis and waggle my eyebrows at him. He raises his in response.

 

"Special… tea?" laughter tears out of his lungs, rings against the walls, pulls playfully at the corners of my mouth.

"Where would you have gotten your hands on such a thing, Professor? How _gauche_." The snark I keep hoping for reassures me further.

"I do hope you mean cannabis, because a vixen in Ibiza made me 'special tea' once and hers had acid in it."

 

Surprised laughter bursts from my lips before I have a chance to curb it.

 "Springing acid on someone seems like a terrible idea." The words struggle through what's left of my laugh.

 

"Extremely. I've had a tenuous relationship with scarecrows ever since." This time his smirk cracks suddenly into a grin that crawls up into his eyes, wrinkling the crow's feet etched into his face.

 

"Good thing you're not a country boy, then." The pungent herbal aroma of the hash, dissolved in butter and mixed with the rooibos I loved was an odd, but relaxing combination. I can't help taking a sip of mine the minute I've added cream to it. I almost catch the rug with my toe as I stutter step back towards the couch, my face buried in the mug.

 

"Honestly though, where did you get that?" Tony's voice is disembodied as he lays back again on the couch arm.

 

"My sister runs a quite successful dispensary in Colorado." The words hurry out in-between greedy sips.

 

"Just when I think we've reached the end of the surprises…." He snorts, staring at the flurry beginning outside the kitchen window. Deep brown eyes smile at me, more muted than a few moments before, as he accepts his mug and dips his muzzle into the mouth of it to smell the piping hot, warm grey ambrosia. His frost-burned hand shifts uncomfortably under the heat radiating from the ceramic- as he tips the mug back greedily he chooses to tough it out with the left hand instead. A contented half-hum echoes from the mug, followed by a deep, satisfied sigh as he essentially chugs the entire thing. Such basic sounds of pleasure twist into me, mutating into faded lust-electricity, losing their true context along the way.

 

 _Keep it together, Lauren._  

"It's been less than a day, Tony. Do you find most people so shallow?"

 

"Sadly... yes."


	6. Departure

**Dec 29th 2018, 4:20pm - Upstate Pennsylvania Woods**

_I can't stop grinning at him - I wonder if he notices._

_I'm sure he must._

 

Tony chews on his tongue, squinting intensely at the screen while Mario slides face first down an ice slide in the middle of an unexplained void.

 

_There really are a lot of unexplained voids in Mushroom Kingdom..._

_I wonder if anyone has bothered to look into that…_

 

Tony winces as Mario swan dives off the same curve he has the past four times with a mournful 'AAAaaoooo'.

 

_I'd expected an engineering genius with a flight capable suit to be better at video games than this._

"Noob." I giggle, eyelids heavy, heart light.

 

He shoots a red eyed glare at me- it melts inevitably into a hypnotic, maddeningly handsome grin.

"How's a man supposed to concentrate with you staring him down?" He cracks up as he says it- I can feel the blood rushing into my cheeks.

 

_Be cool, Lauren._

_Beeeee..._

_Cooooooool._

"Mario needs a Lakitu buddy like he has in MarioKart, with you driving him." I fake nonchalance, unconvincingly.

_Good job._

 

Tony's eyes smile in odd silence as he stares, mystified at me, no retort forming on his lips.

 

The heat in my cheeks roars into a fire as his gaze grapples mine too easily into submission.

_I knew he'd do this to me, from the moment I opened that door._

I wonder why I'm still so surprised at how enthralled I am- despite my history of resistance to attraction, and considering his history of seducing probably every woman he's met in his life.

_This is different, though. I'm no gold digging, fake boobed hussy._

The thought would have made my eyes harden in defiance if the THC coursing through me wasn't encouraging me to relax so efficiently. The silence presses in around me, ages seem to pass between us as he continues to peer into my very soul. I can barely register the crackling of the wood stove, and behind that, the soft, frenzied patter of wet snowflakes against the windows. The blood roars in my ears- I can feel it coursing through my chest with a concerning amount of detail.

 

"Thank you." He mutters lowly, almost hesitantly, gravel in his voice turning into smooth, solemn pebbles. "I haven't felt passable in what seems like years."

 

I can't stop one corner of my lips turning up in response.

"Passable. I'm flattered." _You're losing it, little girl. Stay focused._

I force myself to get up and take both our cups over to the kitchen counter, desperate for a break in the intensity of his gaze. Soft, strong, warm tendrils fade in to wrap around my heart and squeeze tightly- the same unexplainable feeling that came on the heels of our earlier feedback loop.

_From him? Is this my own?_

_What is it?_

 

Slowly, distractedly, I pad back to the couch and drop to my knees, automatically focused on the gauze on his chest.

_Or is it the reactor I'm drawn to?_

"How does it feel?" I raise a hand brazenly to the skin just below where those intrusive black strings are hidden. My gaze is fixed inexorably on his arc reactor, I'm easily mesmerized now by the rhythmic pulsing of bright blue. I watch his chest rise and fall slowly, a deep, purring sigh stirring the tendrils of hair I'm using to shield my eyes from his. 

"Which one?" He mutters, a tinge of amusement in the syllables. "Arc reactor or sutures?" The static of cloth against skin warns me of slow movement.  Tony's calloused hand captures the ill-behaved fingers hovering over his chest.

 

My eyes flick up to his, startled by the lightning which violently sunders my core when he touches me. A harsh gasp catches in my throat before I'm able to force my lips around a reply.

 

"The…both?"

_Stupid girl. Now you've done it._

My own mental reprimand is drowned quickly out. Warm, high voltage tendrils pierce my chest, coil around my heart, squeezing firmly again.

_Stupid, helpless, falling girl._

 

A misted smile hangs crooked on Tony's mouth in reply, facial hair accentuating the smirk, his eyes half closed and twinkling with embers.

"The stitches are fine. Sort of itchy…" His voice has a heavy, hot quality to it. "The arc reactor is…well...it used to feel warm, used to make my whole chest feel like it was vibrating…I've gotten used to it, but…"

 

Lightning blinds me, stops my heart, splits my body in two before it begins to settle stubbornly into my stomach.

 

"You staring at it made me realize it was there again." The words slip like honey through his half-smile.

 

I swallow the lump in my throat down futilely.  _Oh God._

"I'm…sorry- I didn't realize I was st-" I cut myself off with a tiny gasp as lightning strikes again, this time warmer, making every nerve vibrate, making me tremble.

 

He's pulling me closer by my hand- gently, slowly- so that I can stop him if I choose. I'm pulled in compliantly, too mesmerized to resist, not a shred of logic left in me to argue.

 

Full lips burn hot against mine, his beard scratching softly against my chin. My eyes close to lend power to my sense of touch and smell, free hand floating up to cradle his jaw. Instantly he deepens the kiss, tongue slipping deftly across my lips, begging, pleading for a brief moment before it gains entry to my mouth. I feel his jaw muscles ripple under my palm as he presses his mouth harder against mine, his breath deepening ever so slightly, his cadence of exhalation becoming gradually rushed.

Tony's tongue tastes like honey and salt, and a hint of metal- I'm instantly addicted, aching. His rough hand drops mine, slides up to thread through my hair, and my formerly trapped fingers find his right shoulder first, ghosting over the gauzed muscle, over the hard line of his collarbone. The  subtly trembling pads of my fingers trace up the other side of his stubbly jaw before curling around his neck, twisting into the soft mahogany at the nape. Lightning strikes me again, cracking through me so forcefully that I can't keep a high, short moan from escaping into his mouth, and the calloused fingers in my hair tug accidentally in response, clinging to my scalp, tingling sparks of pleasure skipping down my neck. His breath escapes his nose with a low growl.

It feels like an eternity before either of us dares to come up for air.

When we do, he keeps my face inches from his with the hand tangled in my hair, staring into my eyes with pools of liquid black rimmed in brown. We pant softly as I try to come to terms with that too-tight feeling wrapping around my heart. Heat blazes in my stomach.

_Stop this now. Before the emotional feedback tears us both apart._

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm grateful that I can't feel a hint of slimy guilt coating the tendrils of… -- _of what?--_ burrowed into my chest. My rapt attention shifts down to his lips, wet and dark red, his goatee catching blue light from the arc reactor, which is now pulsing minutely but steadily. My whole body surges with need, wants nothing more than to merge with his, to heal his heart and scars, to taste salty metal and honey again, but I pull away somehow. Sitting back up on my knees, I allow my hands one last caress of his gauzed chest as they withdraw to my sides.

 

His embered gaze holds a deeply primal twinge of disappointment, doubt, but it slips away as quickly as it had come.

 

I swallow hard, fighting the demanding urge to do far worse than he'd just done to me.

"N-need…to smoke…" I choke out as I scramble to my feet. I grasp at my coat shakily on the way out the kitchen door.

Cold, wet air slices into me as I try futilely to zip my coat up with a lighter already in my hand. I'm already shaking, constantly fighting those heart-tendrils, and now shivering tremors wrack my chest, making it nearly impossible to flick the lighter adequately.

_Shit… shit shit shitshit_ …

My breath leaves my lips in frantic bursts of vapor. I _need_ this flame, and the acrid smoke that comes after. It feels like a decade passes before I finally get the cigarette lit, trying to dodge stray blobs of snow with my mouth, shielding the fragile cherry with my back to the wind.

_How? What am I becoming?_ The still (miraculously) sedated half of me wonders just why I'm fighting the inevitable tide of his soul even as the sane half tries desperately to talk sense into me.

_I've worked so hard for everything I have, and I'm just going to let some ~~billionaire superhero~~ man waltz in and…and…what? --_

I spit at the snowy ground, attempting to dispel the erratic, anxious frustration with pure determination.

_\--What is he trying to do? It's been only a day! Surely not bed me, he's very injured…_

_This is insane._

I despair as I realize just how little control I have over myself, where I thought so haughtily less than a day before that my mind was some sort of steel fortress. The only thing I can think to do is shiver and stare into the snow covered trees.

My ears pull back at my skull as the door clicks behind me. He's hunched on crutches there, still barechested, realizing quickly what a stupid move it was to open the barrier keeping the damp frigid air from him.

 

"What are you…?" I manage through shaking lips.

 

"Doing? Yeah, I don't know… it's still cold as hell out here." I feel his eyes float hot across my face, flick over to the cigarette spitting pitiful tendrils of smoke in defiance of the cutting air. "Come back in, would you? Jarvis isn't here to pamper me if you freeze to death." His lips smirk, but his eyes betray a glimpse of worry, perhaps regret.

 

"I'm f-fine…go on, I'm n-not dead yet." I turn my face away slightly to hide the tears threatening to fall. Tony's uninjured foot shifts over the carpet, once, twice. Crutches click softly as he hesitates- silence settles between us, full of things neither of us are ready or willing to say.

 

"You know, I'm not used to girls running off after I kiss them." He quips awkwardly, stubbornly finding a better perch on his crutches.

 

"W-well... I'm _not_ 'girls'." I spit, accidentally finding the reason why I'm so upset. He's undeterred.

 

"Come inside? Pretty-pretty please? Your cigarette is down to the filter." He nods slightly at it, steel brown irises tracking the cherry as I flick it away, force my feet to carry me back in.

"Apologies," he rumbles, a few breaths later, his crutches clicking back over to the couch. "Maybe I'm simply rusty."

 

A twinge of blind reactive anger, certainly my own, shoots through the tentacles still wrapping my heart, loosens their grip just a bit.

"Am I a game to you?" I growl. "Some physical toy to take your pleasure from and toss aside like so many others?"

 

His brown eyes, still very much bloodshot, squint a bit, surprised. _Wounded, even._ I instantly regret my sharp words. As quickly as I'd seen and felt it, his mask comes back up.

 

"Not hardly." His voice is trying a bit too hard to be light. "I'm much less the gaming type than I was some years ago... Besides, it seems like you've got more unexpected turns than that goddamn penguin slide." A lip curls up framed by uncharacteristically disheveled beard hair.

 

I want to chuckle to release the tension, but laughing would mean he's won, somehow, which I simply cannot allow. I settle for shaking the snow from my pants, then pouring myself the last of the special tea. I choose to look carefully over the tattered suit on my counter, slowly sipping at my cup.

 

He settles back into the couch as I peer at the twisted metal, sighing heavily. "This place needs music." He notes gruffly as he reaches for his now long dry shirt.

 

"Probably." I spend more than a few moments touching the cold metal, looking at the gashes and scuffs, wincing at the dent in a boot. Eventually I  turn away to find my small collection of CDs, plugging in the tiny stereo in place of the Zenith. I walk with a stilted, measured stride to his side, fighting the urge to feel frightened of losing myself in those eyes again. Thankfully he keeps his gaze from me, only using it in tandem with a mummified hand to choose a CD- Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here".

_Fitting_.

 

His eyes close slowly and he sighs, lips curling almost imperceptibly upward as 'Shine On You Crazy Diamond' begins to wind warmly out of the speakers, mixing with the soft crackling of logs. I don't realize that a small ache radiating from those tendrils still slack around my heart exists until it begins to melt away at the music.

I've only just sat in my post at the chair facing him and closed my eyes to experience the seductive whine of electric guitar, when I pick up on crunching snow outside. My eyes fly open and I scramble to my feet. Tony opens one eye to stare at me in confusion before he begins to pick up the even, regimented footsteps over the music.

 

"You're quite high strung, considering the amount of weed you've ingested." He notes softly. "Relax, will you? It's just Steve-"

Padded knuckles rap pointedly on the front door, on cue. "-So polite, even in a snowstorm." Tony sighs, eyes rolling with a smirk. After stumbling at the door, I crack it open. My gaze draws up from the snow which has just fallen onto my floor from the continually growing snowdrift, to combat boots, up blindingly patriotic kevlar.

 

"Good evening, Ma'am." My attention snaps to disheveled sandy hair, focused blue eyes squinting against the harsh snow reflected sunlight, vapor pouring in steady bursts from a cold nipped nose. "I'm sorry to bother you, but have you had any contact with-"

  
"I'm _fine,_ flyboy." Tony calls from his perch, turning the panic in the Captain's face to visible relief. I open the door, relieved as well.

 

_I am not sure what I expected._

 

Captain America doesn't move until I motion him in, and when he does, he wipes his feet at the door and holds out the gloved hand not currently occupied by a sizeable, jagged chunk of what appears to be the armoring of Mr. Stark's suit.

"Pleasure to meet you, Ma'am. Captain America, at your service."

 

"Oh for fuck's _sake_ Steve, everyone knows your real name by now, you were defrosted on national television." Stark laughs heartily even has he chastises his teammate. "You're not even wearing your  _cowl_."

 

"...Hawkeye thought it would be funny to hide it somewhere in the tower and then deploy to Djibouti overnight. Fury hardly gave me time to put my _boots_ on, let alone look for it..." A large leather bound hand moves to rub at the back of his Steve's neck as he winces a bit in frustration, smiling abashedly.

 

"I'm going to spraypaint the inside of all his Oakleys black, don't even worry about it." Stark's smirk has an insidious curl.

 

"Lauren Hunter." I take the Captain's cold leather hand, he shakes it with a measured, crisp and firm motion.

 

"Oh! I see how it is, _Steve_ gets your last name right off the bat, and I have to hear it a day later." Tony huffs, mock annoyance cutting in the syllables.

 

"Glad to see you've taken good care of him." Steve mutters to me, nostrils flaring as he seems to analyze the lingering smell of the skunky tea. _I'm not sure if he's being sarcastic or genuine- perhaps both._ I smile anyway, suddenly grateful for someone else to shield me from Tony's eyes, no pun intended.

"Jarvis is worried sick about you, Stark."

 

"Aww, sure it wasn't you? There's really no need to hide your desperate man crush, Steve. Besides, Jarvis is an AI, I'm sure he'll live."

 

Rogers rolls his eyes. I smirk, meeting his gesture knowingly, inviting him to sit at the chair I'd been inhabiting.

"Thank you." _Such a gentleman, this one._ I chuckle to myself. _What a nice change_. "So what did you do to yourself this time, Tony?" Steve sighs, exasperated. 

 

"Ask the doc, here." Tony inclines his head in my direction, not breaking gaze with Steve. Deep blue eyes shift to me expectantly.  _See, why don't I get all crazy when Captain America looks at me?_

 

"Torn ligament in his ankle, two gashes on his torso requiring 31 stitches, frost burned hand, minor bruising, no breaks, no immediate nervous system issues… at least not from the crash he sustained." I add that last part with more than enough sarcasm to make Stark squint a weak attempt at reprimand.

 

"She nursed me back to health with special tea and these fantastic things called ...bird buckets? Right?" Tony can hardly get through the sentence without a giggle. I sigh, a bit perturbed at Stark's lack of gratitude.

 

"Bird…buckets?" Steve's amusement is evident in his reply.

 

"She's a hermit witch doctor."

 

_Can't laugh. He'll win…_

"I was fresh out of brandy." I interject. Tony's eyes catch mine as I shoot daggers through my stare.

 

"Hey, I _said_ they were fantastic." He holds both hands up in a placating gesture.

 

"Would you like a 'bird bucket'?" I turn to Steve, a suppressed half smirk playing on my lips.

 

Captain Rogers clears his throat, smiling politely, if not a bit confused- and taps a finger to a sleek wrist watch with 'Stark Industries' etched subtly into the metal casing.

"No, thank you. I'm under orders to bring Mr. Stark home immediately." As if on cue, the rhythmic beating of a helicopter's blades fades in, drowning out the music. A dagger of disappointment mixed with muted annoyance and regret snakes into my ribs. It's not my own.

 

"Well, let's run along home then, mother hen." Tony winces as he ties the only boot that still fits, grunts as he forces himself onto one foot. Steve gathers up the battered suit and carries it out ahead of Stark, who picks his way carefully into the snow on the crutches I'd supplied him. He pauses, dark hair beginning to whip, snow swirling around him as he turns back to face me. Full lips draw up into a thin, bittersweet smile, eyes sparkling but muted.

 

"I'll be back for the suit." Steve calls, over the drone of an engine as he secures a harness around Mr. Stark in the manmade blizzard.

Crutches fall forlornly into the snow, and then… they're gone.

 

I close my eyes, suddenly terribly exhausted as the warm tendrils I'd almost gotten attached to slip away from my heart like the drone of the aircraft.


	7. Brandy

**January 16th 6:49pm, MIT Center for Biotechnology- Neurology Lab**

 

"Dr. Hunter?" The sing-song voice of my aide, Corey, startles me from my current scrutiny of a grey matter sample through a microscope. Perturbed, I sit up and blink a few times, eyes tired.

 

"What's the deal, Corey? You know I hate it when you don't knock-" I rub the strain from my face with fumbling hands, flippantly choosing to reach out into her mood to expedite this apparently urgent message. The hairs on my neck reactively stand up with a sudden rush of prickly anxiety, crackling wild and excited energy. My eyes pull into slow understanding of her face as I squint; she's grinning madly, blushing completely. I've only seen her this giddy once-- after the acceptance of her masters dissertation. "-are you alright?" Shoving the frankly jarring emotions down, I adjust my glasses stubbornly.

 

"It's… ahhh…well you have a visitor." _She's practically shaking._

 

"Well who is it, the President or something? You look like you're going to explode." My stiff shoulders roll backward and I stretch as though awakening from a sleepwalking trance.

 

"Just… come!"

 

I gather up my breath to regain patience as I place the sample I was poring over back into its chilled rack resignedly.  _God forbid I focus long enough to get this last data set for the Pentagon... I don't have time for this!_

"Where are they?" I'm annoyed at how persistent the waves of anxious energy are that assault me from Corey's location as we walk into the lobby of our now dark and largely empty research building.

 

"The helipad!" She practically squeals.

 

_The helipad? Oh for fuck's sake._

"Seriously, is it the President? The Pope, maybe?" Images of throngs of tuxedoed bodyguards and police escorts flash through my mind. "And what the hell do they want, I've got deadlines to meet. Have they heard of a phone?" I sigh, tamping down on the nagging frustration of feeling so close to even a small breakthrough, and then having that train of thought interrupted.  _Just use this as a break. You haven't eaten in fourteen hours. You're probably hangry anyhow._

 

"You know how hard it is to reach you by phone." Corey replies, practically trembling as she giggles.

 

_Does she know she looks like a Chihuahua on crack when she gets like this?_

_Whoa Lauren, that was mean. You're definitely hangry._

 

As we cross the campus towards the medical center, it dawns on me. After all, it's quite hard to miss the assertive, streamlined 'Stark Industries' on the tail of the copter.

_Of course. How could I be so naïve? Anyone else would have called, I'd bet._

I spot him alone, standing cocky and tall, hair whipping in a gust of winter wind. He looks like he's always looked in magazines or newspapers-- pinstripe Armani suit, Matsuda sunglasses, goatee groomed sharp and roguishly assertive. _Wait a minute. Standing?_

"How's he…?" I mutter accidentally aloud.

 

Corey's far too excited to hear me, still vibrating with every brisk step we take.

As we get inevitably nearer, I realize I'm still in a lab coat and scrubs, blonde hair tossed into a loose utilitarian bun, simply to keep it from my face as I bend over specimens and machines all day. Then I realize I have never once cared about that before. I roll my eyes at the heat in my own cheeks. _Stop it, you damned teenager. This is what he gets to see if he can't have the decency to forewarn me._

"Did he say what he wanted?" I call after Corey, who's now a couple of strides ahead of me.

 

"He said something about a business meeting?" Her thin soprano voice bounces against the snow covered trees along our neatly plowed path, comes wavering back to me through persistent wind. After a few more moments of buzzing, anxious silence, Corey calls out to Stark as we close in. "She's pretty easy to find, Mr. Stark." Her voice is a bit winded as she feigns confidence.

 

"Appreciate it…Corey, was it?" His head never tilts towards her, faced sharply at attention towards me. I secretly rejoice at his choice to wear sunglasses, shading me from the gaze that slipped immediately underneath my skin those few weeks ago.

"Right!" Her lovestruck awe at him remembering her name _(quite a feat I'm sure)_ nearly knocks me over. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

 

Stark steps forward stiffly with his right foot, offers me his hand smoothly, white toothed grin raising his rose lensed Matsudas ever so slightly. I shake it firmly, no other response left to me.

"Dr. Hunter, always a pleasure." That grin makes the hesitant part of me feel like a seal pup staring down the razored gullet of a great white.

 

"I see you are doing well." My words are pointed but not uncaring.  _Why are you here?_

 

His head tilts forward, mischievous brown eyes peeking over the thick black brims of his sunglasses as he begins to chaw on a piece of gum like some California frat boy, still grinning. The faint shock of Corey's realization that we've met before crackles at the back of my neck for a split second before it fades. I stifle an incredulous laugh.  _I'd forgotten she was there._

 

"I'm just gonna…" she mutters meekly, a bit crestfallen. I nod in her direction, shoot her a professional smile before she trots off, decidedly deflated.

 

"How much time do you have?" Not missing a beat, Stark flicks his wrist to expose a (surely invaluable) gold watch and pretends to look at it.

 

"How are you standing?" I shoot back, far more interested in my own questions than any plans he undoubtedly has. He scoffs, lips held in a loose 'aah', acting insulted.

 

"How do you _think_ I'm standing?" _He's built an exosuit from missile casings before, of course he's crafted something in two weeks to forgo looking like an invalid._ I smile just enough to let him know I'd figured it out.

"So, how much time do you have?" He presses again through smacks of gum, rocking back and forth like a candy gorged child.

 

"Mr. Stark-"

 

"-Tsk, you know how I feel about you calling me that." His cutting interruption forces the wind dead out of my sails.  _You almost looked him in the eyes that time, Lauren._

 

_Damn it, focus._

"It's a wonder you get through your board meetings, then." I sputter.

_Christ, Lauren, is that the best you've got?_

 

"My board members are crotchety old men, Dr. Hunter. They almost never remind me of Pepper. But you're more right than you mean to be, because I hate every one of the bastards." A breathy laugh flies out of my mouth before I can think to stop it. _Damn it Lauren, don't encourage him._ It's far too late, the pearly canine peeking out from behind his lips attests to that.

"You still haven't answered me, but apparently you have enough time to deflect my question." With that, his hand is around my wrist, head nodding behind him at the chopper, beckoning me.

 

"Mr.- ugh. Tony." I protest weakly as he's tugging gently at my arm. He barely uses enough force to lift my arm from my side, but I find myself shuffling an inch or two forward, all the same.  

"Just what is this about, exactly?" The blades of the chopper are starting to spin up with a low whine. Somewhere in the depths of my mind I register those warm tentacles beginning to slide up my wrist and around my heart again.

 

"I thought we could discuss that on the way to dinner." He says over his shoulder as he takes a steady, if not stilted, step towards the cab of the helicopter. "We've got reservations at 8." His voice raises as the propellers beat the air with growing speed. I swallow the itchy mass of nerves that’s been sitting thickly in my throat and reluctantly move to follow him.

 

"Reservations…?" I start to yell, but think better of it until we're inside the richly upholstered, noise dampening cabin.

"That'll be rich, showing up somewhere that requires reservations in a lab coat with brains smeared on it." I drawl, avoiding his gaze to build up my emotional defenses. I can still feel him grinning at me like some lion who's just succeeded in dragging down a surprisingly slow gazelle.

 

"I thought that would be much more difficult, Lauren. Are you going soft?" _He's considerably more formidable when he's not half dead._ I note woefully.

 

"Don't test me, Stark, I've got three papers to publish and the Pentagon is breathing down my neck on this PTSD research." I snap back, crossing my arms. I glance at him just long enough to watch him pull his sunglasses from his eyes. I'm certain he squinted ever so slightly when I mentioned my research. Something tingly… _hope?..._ tugs at the fuzzy feeling already wrapped around my core.   
_What I need to research is why I can't deflect his emotions or withhold my own when he's within a ten foot radius of me._ It truly was anomalous. I'd thought I was going insane during the ordeal at the cabin, but when I'd returned to society, my interactions with everyone else were simple and easily dismissed, even if, at times, the emotions presented to me were meant to be strong.

_Some students just don't understand when their fathers can't buy them grades anymore…_

 

"Come work for me, Dr Hunter." Tony squints a bit harder, biting his full bottom lip for a moment instead of chewing like a cow. My jaw goes slack in shock for a split second before the hard mask comes back up.

 

"You're kidding."

 

"Deadly serious. I've been doing my homework on you. That research you're doing, your hands are too tied by the government grants to do the most good possible. PTSD is a subject I am intimate with, and I owe it to every soldier who's ever been scarred by one of my weapons to find reparation." The smirk I was sure had been painted on his face had disappeared. _A subject he's intimate with?_

He takes a deep breath before continuing. "You're alone in your studies, yes? Aside from… who was it? Cathy?"

 

"Corey-"

 

"Corey, yes." _She'd be devastated._ I almost smile, almost. "That's beyond inane. What sort of researcher is expected to make major breakthroughs without access to the international community? On a time table? The brass is too small minded, PTSD isn't just an American problem, and it doesn't provide any benefit to keep it under wraps. That's selfish. It's backwards. And the paltry sum they're throwing at you I can easily double."

 

"Tony-"

 

"Triple."

 

"I'm not it doing for the money, first of all-- and it's the middle of the school year, it would be unforgivably irresponsible and-"

 

"Five times as much."

 

"Are you hearing anything I'm saying?"

 

"You haven't said 'yes' yet so… no." I roll my eyes and sigh. _Waaaay more formidable._ The ache in those warm tendrils is creeping back in, slowly. It's maddening that I don't understand the feeling. _Of all the ludicrous things to happen to an_ empath _._ "Think on it." Tony concedes, that smirk creeping back onto his lips.

 

"Until I say yes?"

 

"Preferably. At any rate, we do need to address the problem of your wardrobe, you're right." _Don't smile. Don't look at those ~~gorgeous~~ black holes he calls eyes._

 

"And how do you propose to do that?" I stare off at the ground, watching cars crawl like neon ants across the dusk painted snow.

 

"I've arranged for my stylist to meet us at the tower."

 

"Of _course_ we're going to Manhattan." I mutter, raising a hand with intent to chew on my nail but thinking better of it. He chuckles lowly, gently. I feel the ever present tentacles grip me tighter for a moment, so tight it nearly hurts.

 

"Nowhere else worth going, good doctor."

I tear the tie out of my hair, letting my long abused tresses fall over my shoulders. My fingers twist at a golden lock-a childhood safety mechanism- as I stare absently out the cabin window. In the half-reflection of the glass, I see Tony's head, resting precariously on his hand, tilt the tiniest bit. With it comes something like faded lightning, crawling up those ever present tentacles worming through my chest. It washes over me in pulsating waves, growing inexorably stronger until he clears his throat, shifts and chooses to stare out the other window. Even then, it drains so slowly away that I fear my defense on it will fall before I begin to reciprocate.

_This man is emotionally dangerous. Why do I find him so…so…_

 

"Beautiful." His voice floats husky through the cabin. My eyes flick over to his, curious as to his subject, before I think about what I'm doing.

"Massachusetts in winter." He's staring at the hand twirling a lock of hair so intently I feel as though it may burn off. His free hand drums restlessly on the kid leather cream colored armrest. It takes all I have not to reach out and inspect the pink, patchy scars pulled tight over his knuckles, a reminder of the frostbite. Following my stare, he picks his hand up, inspects it for himself.

"Brandy?" Tony's reaching for a decanter without looking for it- an action as familiar to him as breathing.

 

"Only if you're not planning a test flight of another suit.” I quip, sarcasm dripping from my lips. He smirks as he hands me a crystal glass.

 

"Rocks?"

 

"Please." Drinking was either going to be a brilliant idea, or a terrible one, but I am much too exasperated to find out which. A large, spherical ice cube clinks against the bottom before he pours us both half a glass. My eyes never leave his scarred knuckles; his never stray from my lips.

 

"To endless surprises." Stark purrs as I clink the lip of my glass against his _,_ letting the fiery, spicy-sweet liquid flow down my throat in one large gulp. _Terrible idea… fuck it._


	8. Butterflies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory stereotypical gay French stylist incoming.

 

 

**January 16th 7:52pm- Avengers Tower, Upper Manhattan**

"Where did you find this one?" A waifish, diminutive raven-haired man offers his hand to me in aid as I step less than gracefully down from the cabin.

I didn't realize the brandy was already working its magic so well until I had to walk under my own power. _Maybe it's just from being in a helicopter..._ I hope futilely.

 

"Doctor Lauren Hunter, this is Girard." Stark's head flicks toward the man who, on cue, raises my hand to his lips before releasing it to walk at too fast a pace towards the giant glass doors leading from the helipad.

 

"No time for pleasantries, I'm afraid, Per Se will never have you again if you're late this time, Mr. Stark." his sharp French accent skips across the slowing blades of the chopper.

 

"I beg to differ, my cancellation fees are practically keeping them open."

 

Girard laughs a high pitched, soft cackle. "I suppose the night with the North Korean missile couldn't be helped."

 

"Let's be honest Ger, I don’t think that thing would've made it over the Pacific even if I hadn't intercepted it."  _Was that a humble brag? Points for style, Mr. Stark._

 

Another cackle bubbles from Girard's general direction as he weaves his way hurriedly in front of Stark and me.

Tony's shooed out of what must be his own dressing room before his stylist throws a deep carmine dress in my general direction.

"Hurry dear we've not a lot of time." I stand there, expecting him to leave. His eyes glisten as that laugh jumps out of his thin lips again, impish and innocent.

"Oh… Lauren, right? Darling, if you think seeing you undress is going to endanger you in any way, you've got quite another thing coming." I just shrug and turn away, stripping off the scrubs that reek of formaldehyde and ethanol. "Tony, on the other hand…" he giggles.

 

 _This is intensely inappropriate on so many levels._ I think through two glasses of brandy. The fabric of the dress feels cool and light against my hand, and I step into it numbly, only noticing how it plunges dangerously low in the back when Girard swoops in to zip it up.

"It's _perfect_." He sighs musically, flitting around me as I catch my own reflection in the mirror on the back of the door.

 

I gasp a bit. There's a slit at the side of my left leg that stops just short of the base of my hip. _Hot damn_ _, I'm glad I shaved today._ I can't help but smile at my dumb luck in terms of personal grooming as I twirl around, trying not to wobble a bit as I do. The dress is some of the finest silk I've ever touched, clinging to me in all the right places, following my movements like liquid.

"How did he know my size?" I wonder out loud.

 

"Oh dear, stop thinking so hard. I thought his reputation preceded him." Girard smiles toothily. My head falls forward, hair masking the blush creeping onto my face as I realize through the alcohol how I'm walking like a good little lamb right into his lion's den. _Lion be damned._ "Oh but you're the professor, aren't you? How rude of me, of course you think too hard!" His impish smile makes me start to mimic it. I allow his exuberance to leak into me.

 

_Wait a tick…_

"He's told you about me?"

 

"Ha! He can't _stop_ telling me about you." The fire in my cheeks threatens to set my hair ablaze. "I was beginning to give up on him, you know, ever since Pepper…poor girl… well, he's not been the same." I stay silent, hoping to hear more as he seats me in a chair right in front of the aforementioned mirror. Skilled hands brush out my disheveled hair, taming it, pulling it back into the basics of an up do. When the focused man stays quiet for several minutes, I decide to prod him a bit.

 

"What… has he said?"

 

Girard's sharp features pull from rapt concentration into a genuine smile.

"That you're maddeningly stubborn, and terribly intelligent…and like to play Super Mario…" I snort a laugh involuntarily.

"..and that you've saved him." Something about the way his voice drops to a private quiet on the last part makes my eyes squint in clouded concentration.

 

 _Well I did, but… I_ have _?_

He's done with my hair after pulling a few strands loose from the intentionally messy bun. I tilt my head to look at the French braid crawling across the right side of my head, curls falling in arguably natural but very measured places. I'd never seen someone do something so delicate this quickly. Before I have the chance to truly appreciate it, however, Girard is pulling several strings of platinum across my throat. My eyes almost fall out of my head.

"Please tell me this is a rental. Oh damn, even _that_ is too much." I gasp.

 

Girard just laughs heartily again. "You'll have to ask Tony about that, darling." As if that weren't enough, there's suddenly a matching set of chains draped over my right wrist as he's handing me simple diamond studs, clad in that same platinum. _Those have to be at least 1 carat a piece…_ I feel like I'm going to die of both embarrassment and flattery.

 

"Jesus Christ!"

 

"Shh, put them in! No time!" He chides, half a smile still hanging on his youthful face.

 

I comply, as quickly as my tipsy fingers can. I don't wear earrings often, and it takes a few moments for me to reopen the piercings, but I can barely feel it over being taken completely aback. Girard is in my face, motioning for me to close my eyes as he applies makeup. I take the moment to contemplate just how quickly I've jumped off the deep end. _Is this even real? I'm going to wake up any moment, aren't I. Oh please, let me wake up._ I fight the urge to flinch as the eyelash curlers come down one at a time.

 

"Ger, you're killin' me man." Tony calls, smooth baritone muffled from a room away.

 

"Well you should've been here faster, then! You simply _can't_ rush perfection, no matter how many times you try." I watch Girard roll his eyes animatedly between swipes of finishing powder.

 

"Can't go any faster than the terminal velocity of my helicopter. Unless... maybe a  pair of repulsors to counteract the retreating blade stall..." Tony's voice fades out as he loses himself in mental invention on the other side of the sleek grey wall.

 

Girard rests his cool fingers on my arm to let me know I should open my eyes. I can feel the satisfaction shimmering from him as he sighs.

"Magnifique! Another miracle Tony, I need a raise."

 

"Anything! Just as long as we can go!"

 

" _Anything-_?" Impish lips purse playfully. Girard's gaze rolls across the ceiling as though Stark's voice were coming from the heavens.

 

"Anything but _that_." A bit of Stark's amusement slips under the door and skips across my feet.

 

Another cackle peals from the thin man swaying in front of me. Girard winks at me, like this whole exchange were a secret only the three of us were privy to.

"Oh! _M_ _erde_." He spits, smacking his own forehead in dramatic self deprecation. "The shoes!" He whispers as he winks at me. I peer across the room, following the direction he's pointing vaguely in, at a pair of Gucci pumps- five inch heels, black patent leather, platinum clasps.

 

_Oh, no..._

_I'm terrible at high heels._

_Particularly after two glasses of top shelf brandy._

"Oh for Christ's sake, my _shoe_ size too?" I hiss, eliciting a brilliant grin from Girard.

 

"You can't very well go in sneakers, can you?" He has an excellent point. _Alright._ I suck in my breath, try to center myself as he pulls the shoes on. _It's just for a couple of hours._

 

As Girard opens the mirrored door with a flourish, my reflection gives way to Tony's broad back--impossibly straight posture, with hands behind him, fingers folded together at the small, thumbs betraying any composure as they dance frantically around each other. He turns head first to face me, poker face in place. _After all, he's probably done this same thing hundreds of times._

And yet, something stirs behind clear brown eyes as that damnable smirk plasters itself over his lips.

The crow's feet that follow are unusually deep.

 

"I thought you said you were in a hurry."

 

Girard's flirty reprimand is somewhere very far away as a tidal wave of raw want washes over me. I cling to the cloudy feeling of alcohol like a buoy in a hurricane. The warm, soft ropes around my heart pull so taut that my knees feel like buckling. It takes everything I have in me to look away from those eyes. _Those incredible, terrible eyes._ I falter in the storm, just barely.

Tony's hand is around my arm, steadying me. The shock of his touch is just enough to bring me back to the present, and to force the blood rushing up to my cheeks again.

"Damn it, Stark. You liquor me up and put me in heels, is this another one of your games?" I half laugh, terribly embarrassed.

 

"I'm bad at penguin slides, you're bad at heels, we're even." Deep crow's feet again, impossibly taut heart. "Are you going to make it to the car? Happy's gonna kill me if we're any later."

 

"I'm fine." I'm trying to convince myself as well as him. Luckily, I find my stride just before stepping into the elevator.

"Who is Happy?" I wonder aloud, staring somewhere past the bracelet tinkling delicately around my wrist.

 

"My driver, bodyguard and best friend. But don’t let him catch me saying it, or he'll go all mushy."

 

The breath rushes out of my nose, and I grin. I'm not concerned about who wins or loses at this point. _Besides, he'd definitely be winning if I chose to keep track._ I tilt my head up slowly and watch the floor numbers descend, acutely aware of Tony leaning against the opposite wall. His emotional output and intake is so strong that I can almost see him without having to look. Occasionally I'm viciously zapped with currents of muted lust, but he never makes a move. _Points for restraint, I'll give him that._ I smirk to myself.

"What is this truly about?"

 

Tony's head tilts a bit in feigned confusion, guilty smirk trying to hide itself in the dark reflection of the elevator doors. "What _ever_ do you mean?"

 

"One minute I'm studying neuroglia and the next I'm covered in platinum, of all things, and traipsing around in Gucci heels. Are these rented? Girard wouldn't tell me."

 

He laughs; a soft, gentle, private laugh that seems to always be accompanied by another tiny tendril across my heart.

"Do I seem the type to go with a less expensive option when given a choice?"

 

My eyes widen for a moment in sheer exasperation. "For what? _Surely_ you're not giving them to me. We barely know one another! And if you're keeping them, well… platinum is not a good look on you, I'd think."

 

Tony clicks his tongue, jaw jutting out theatrically. "Those heels would never work inside my suit. You're right."

 

An unabated laugh bursts from my lips, echoes in this constantly descending, too small box.

Another wave of lust, smaller, but no less enthralling and difficult to dispel.

Another silky soft tentacle, embracing my chest.

 

As the elevator door opens to the lobby, a limo waiting expectantly, I realize too late he hadn't answered my questions.

 

 


	9. The Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your listening pleasure, try Gotye, "Hearts a Mess"
> 
> 06/17/2017: Major edits made for imagery, clarity and pacing. Read this one again.

**January 16th 8:52pm- Per Se Restaurant, Hell's Kitchen, New York, NY**

 

"Servers never seem to know just who I am more than twenty minutes past," Tony's gaze flicks between various tuxedo clad waitstaff weaving through intimately candlelit tables. "At least until Benjamin reminds them." He sighs, clearly annoyed.

 

"They know how to hit you where it hurts, it seems." A breathy laugh pours from my lips too easily as I sip yet more champagne. "Right in the punctuality." He's smiling fiercely, and the heat of it gathers with the blush of alcohol on my cheeks as I divert my eyes to his hand.

My voice drops softer, barely audible over the clinks of silverware and idle conversation. "You never answered me, Tony."

 

"Hmm?" His eyes pause from wandering around the room to lock onto the delicate chains around my throat.

 

 _Oh honestly, I'm not quite that far gone._ "What is this about?"

 

His tractor beam gaze skates from my neck to my wrist, then finally to my own eyes, locking in my rapt and drunken attention. Slowly, smoothly, Tony curls up from leaning lazily backward. His posture coils tight as he leans in far enough that his shirt threatens to drag against some au jus. 

"You act as though I'm not alive because of you. Do I really need to say it?" His tone is reserved, low, but not insecure. Truthful words take longer than usual to soak into my mind.

It's so obvious, and yet him having put it into words makes it so real that I'm struck speechless for a moment. Tony idly cuts a piece of filet from his plate and pops it into his mouth, jaw muscles rolling under his beard while waiting patiently for me to recover.

 

_I..._

_I'm not certain what that means._

"Tony…you owe me nothing. I would do it again, for you and anyone else."

 

"Gratitude and repayment of debt are not to be equivocated, doctor." Lips twitch upward as they sip his champagne nonchalantly.

 

"Do you honestly want me researching under your name, or is that gratitude as well?"

 

Tony's eyes narrow a bit, waxing steely and suddenly fierce.

"What I've said before is the truth, and gratitude is no ulterior motive. You are on the cusp of breakthrough, I _know_ that. I want you to be free to apply your methods to anyone who agrees, not who the Pentagon and politicians feel is worthy. It's absolutely _imperative."_

 

_I am beginning to learn what a talent he has for shifting in and out of solemnity._

_For someone who is expected to think, I do little of it concerning the surrounding circumstances of my work. It's important work in principle, and so I do it_ _…_

"I'm staying at the university, at the least until an adequate replacement can be found for the students--"

 

"--Done."

 

He smiles wryly, the word bursting from white teeth as though it were a hand on a buzzer, waiting for my full statement to fall. 

 

 _Uh oh._  

I pause, squinting at the place in his dress shirt where the white-blue glow should be, taking a moment to sip champagne while my blunted mind works out his game.

_As soon as I'd said I was waiting on a replacement, and not simply refusing him, something like a flash of bubbly glee tickled up my throat._

_He may have a poker face, but there's no hiding his soul from me, as much as I wish it weren't true sometimes._

"You've already got someone, haven't you."

 

Tony's lips curl further, crow's feet deepen. Amusement whispers tingly against my toes.

"My dear doctor, what makes you think _that_?" He can't contain a childish laugh.

Dark eyes shine orange in the candlelight.

_Cheshire Cat._

 

I roll my eyes animatedly between bites of the most tender beef I think anyone's ever had. 

"Who?" I hardly manage to hide the amusement leaking into me.  

 

Tony curls disarmingly into the back of his chair again, champagne flute playing back and forth across his bottom lip. 

"MIT is my Alma Mater, you know." His voice waxes musical. _H_ _e's so pleased with himself_.

"It really wasn't so difficult to pull a few strings here, call in a few favors there. You know. Billionaire stuff."

 

My head swivels back and forth in mild disbelief as I down the rest of the dry bubbly impulsively.

"This whole world is just a puppet show to you isn't it?" The crow's feet and bone white Tony reveals in reply fail to deny my accusation.

I close my drink heavy eyelids and sigh, allowing myself to relax and listen to the emotions of the other diners here. It proves difficult to tune out the interference of the incorrigibly focused man in front of me, and I have no idea who any of the others are. _I swear that woman must be Glenn Close... or some kind of stunt double for her...hell, I don't know._

Faint traces of prickly anxiety fade in, the liquid heat of joy washes into me, and someone, somewhere in a corner, is secretly grieving.

Overwhelmingly heavy contentment leaks into my bones.

Underneath it, like a pool of acid hiding beneath a fog, is envy.

 

_Envy._

 

_That's a strange one to feel as a commonality, unless I'm at a wedding or…_

_..._ _maybe a bachelorette party..._

My eyelids open slowly to reveal  Tony's intent gaze. Ripples, then waves of lust begin to lap at my legs instead of staying at bay near my toes, as they had been since we'd gotten here.

 

He has surely been leering at me just as he is now since I had dared to close my eyes. He stretches back in his chair as a king on a throne, chin resting on all but two fingers, cheekbone leaning against the other two splayed in an V. No boyish smile on brandied lips, no crow's feet; just glittering, fiery brown rims behind pools of eternal black, framed by long dark lashes. His brow furrows just barely, lips drawn even, parted slightly as though he's short of breath, cheeks flushed from liquor.

Now he refuses to be ashamed of his formerly furtive gaze.

He chooses to own it, in true Stark form.

In the background, I'm vaguely aware of a gradual hush falling over the sprawling room- although I'm not sure if it's the blood rushing into my ears as well as my face, or the fact that I suddenly feel most of the attention in the room turned toward us.

 

_I am many things, but an extroverted narcissist is not among them._

 

I can’t tell if I'm more unsettled by the fact that I am certain _everyone_ sees what Tony is surely thinking, or the fact that it's _undoubtedly_ about me.

Pure tension, heavy silence presses in around me, threatening to push me into panic for what seems like ages.

The lion licking his full lips in front of me clears his throat, too loudly, and I feel immediate ripples of surprise, shame, like a thousand children being caught peeping in the neighbor's windows at once. Clinking and conversation creep back out into the atmosphere, frightened and obvious. My heart has stumbled its way into a gallop.

 

 

"Check." He demands, never releasing me from his deep amber, predatory gaze.

The breath halts in my chest, turning hot.

 

_If I know for a fact I'm about to spontaneously combust, is it really spontaneous?_

 

Thick fingers numbed by alcohol grasp at a wallet in an inside breast pocket. Deep crow's feet flicker just enough to encourage me to breathe.

"I suddenly remember why I hate this place." Aloof words are spit into the air with a sardonic twang, more for our voyeurs than anyone else.

The waiter is at his side in a second, and Tony's tucking hundred dollar bills into the tall, thin man's nervous hand as he stands without betraying his injury. 

"Shall we?" The lion bows graciously, offering his paw of a hand to help me onto even more unsteady feet.

 

_Oh shit, here we go again with the heels._

Visions of tabloid articles showing my bare ass sticking up after I surely fall in front of every debutante and respected businessman in the city buzz in my mind until I shoo them away. Miraculously, I make it out of the restaurant, arm curled too familiarly around Tony's elbow.

_I can't even tell he's got something surely pure genius and mechanical keeping the weight from his ankle._

 

 

"You alright?" The low, cautious question slips out softly over purring exhaust as I use his strength to steady my descent into his limo instinctively.

I nod numbly, still shaken by how open and vulnerable it feels to be picked apart by a thousand strangers' eyes.

 

 _Why hadn't I noticed it until the fourth course?_ _Was I too focused on deflecting his constant emotional barrages, or did everyone only see us at that moment?_

 

A rush of cold air cuts through the heat in the limo as Tony slips into the opposite door. He perches smoothly beside me - _why, oh why not across from me-_  winter air carries his scent over to me; it washes against my lips, spicy-clean musk, brandy and hair gel.

Visions of that night two weeks ago crash in like the light of a flashbulb as Stark climbs from the city din and into a dim, silent cocoon. 

_The tint on these windows is strong._

"I forget sometimes that not everyone has been followed around by whispers and cameras their whole life." The door closes with a final  _whump_ as he sighs, voice heavy, lifting another magically appearing brandy decanter to another magically appearing glass.

 

"There are worse things." I note breathily, exhaustion from constantly composing myself hitting me freight-train hard. Gradually I become aware of the warmth radiating from his suit, feel his ribs contract away from me when he chuckles. Electric heat pings at my skin and crawls in a starburst across my ribs from the contact between our bodies.

 

_He's so goddamn close to me._

 

"That depends." Ebony eyes consider me lightly, brandy glass raised. "Had enough?"

 

I smile to myself, relieved, as I slip the vice grips some people call shoes off of my feet and splay my toes into the plush carpet lining the floor of the limo.

"That depends." I parrot him, feeling a bit winded. He's dropping another curiously round chunk of ice into another glass and handing it to me, pink tongue caught precariously between his canines.

 

"I heard 'no'. You said 'no', right?" Tony grins slowly from the corner of my vision as I sit forward, resting my elbows against my knees in a decidedly unladylike manner.

Lust laps at my chilled bones, electricity shoots up my bare back. I shiver reactively, commit to letting the brandy spill once again down my throat and spread its spicy warmth over the inside of my ribs.

Soon the blind fog at the base of my brain would cut off the last of my logic, and ironically I was consciously making that decision.

 

"You hold your liquor better than I would expect, Dr. Hunter." Words rumble gradually like spring thunder from the left. Glass clinks behind me happily, a faint slurp indicating what I can see in my mind's eye.

 

"Do I? Should I worry that you're keeping track?" My weighted eyelids are closed, the pull of the vehicle as it rounds a corner sending me spinning. 

_Deep breaths._

"Where does this end?" I make considerable effort not to slur, and fail miserably.

 

A soft, grainy hum evolves into another low, radiant chuckle.

"Where do you _want_ it to end?" Another light tinkle, reserved slurp.

 

 _I don't..._  

"It's getting harder for me to tell."

_Into the rabbit hole we go._

 

His gaze rakes hot up the skin of my back. I sense his mounting need to break some sort of unspoken barrier. Jagged trepidation scratches like rocks under the immutable tide of want threatening to drown me as it rises.

 

_Can't remember why I fight this anymore…_

"Three drinks ago, I knew where I _didn't_ want it to end…" I admit slowly, chuckling weakly, swimming head taking shelter in my cool hands. Tony's laughing softly at that again, the sound falls like deep golden honey across my mind. Familiar tingly aches fade in again, pulsing through radiant ropes wrapped over and into my heart.

 _Why isn't there a dictionary for the way feelings…feel…_ I think, cool grey fog at the base of my skull fluffing up like gauzed cotton. A small, brittle voice somewhere far away tells me such thoughts likely make no sense.

 

_Shutup, me._

 

The soft whisper of Tony's suit as it moves draws me back out of a drunken trance. Calloused fingers gather up the tendrils of hair that have fallen out of my bun, push them over my right shoulder. A tropical tidal wave of suffocating want is easily over my head, but I'm in no condition to hold my breath anymore- so I breathe deeply as those same burning fingers sear over the tender skin at the back of my neck.

"Never-ending surprises."

His chocolate voice rocks magnetically against me, pulling me to and fro gently.

 

_My tattoo…I'd forgotten it was there._

 

Dextrous, rough fingertips threaten to unravel me as I focus on remembering to inhale, slowly, deeply. With a deliberate sense of purpose he traces the symbol for infinity composed of question marks, the pad of a single finger whispering nimble fire on the ink. The touch is smooth, at the very borderline between electric bliss and overstimulation. Gooseflesh ravages my shoulders, falls across my forearms.

"Interesting concept... fitting for a scientist." Tony's words are so low, thick that I almost need to strain to catch them.

My thin breath shivers out as the rising lust crushes me gradually, inevitably, like a dam cracking under the weight. I can no longer prevent my own blind need from leaking back out towards him. I'm certain this inevitable feedback can't mean anything but danger, yet some (now very powerful) reptilian part of me thrills at the risk.

 

The scarred palm slides  _so_ slowly from the back of my neck, following the valley of my spine to the small of my back and up. Tony fans thick fingers across the center of my now shivering back, between shoulder blades, thumb pulling back and forth idly. He leaves it there to offer warmth, to radiate heat from the rough flesh of his palm directly into my spine, to soak out through my ribs. I can barely hear his long, restrained sigh as the palm shifts, aligning vertically, sliding up to the taut muscle between my neck and shoulder. A fiery, calloused palm grips just tightly enough to force a nearly inaudible whimper from my brandied lips.

The cords around my core squeeze and throb in the sweetest agony.

Intoxicating musk surrounds me as I listen to him lean in, fabric of his suit whispering against the silk of my dress. He curls the smooth lining of his Armani jacket around me as a hen would her wing, residual heat winding across my chilled back, a minute space held between his ribs and mine as if he simply intends to provide the heat soaking from his flushed skin to me. A scarred hand slips cautiously over the delicate skin at my right side. Tony gathers me gently, insistently closer. Pressed against him now, I try to breathe through the relentless, paralyzing lightning pounding through me.

 

Relieved shivers shake my very essence. Eyelids grow heavy as I melt into his embrace. Tony tucks his head in a few degrees as his beard slips wiry against my neck, lips hovering a hair's breadth from my red tipped ear as his hot breath curls across the sensitive skin of my jaw.

 

I can't stop the slow gasp of air I take in, taken aback by the sudden and absolute intimacy laid bare by such a tender gesture.

 

"Since the night you opened your door…I've thought about _nothing_ but you, Lauren."

Lips brush against the cool shell of my ear, radiating slow heat. I can hear his tongue pressing against teeth as he whispers, the undertones of his tightly controlled exhalation fanning out in another electric wave of gooseflesh across my throat.

 

_The way he says my name…_

 

My jaw goes slack as I drown in want, as lightning pierces my skull, whips down through my chest, makes my rope wrapped heart quiver, makes my gut clench in beautiful pain. I can't possibly respond; I'm paralyzed by the raw emotion swirling in a violent whirlpool around us. The best I can manage is a fluttering, whispered sigh as I forget to breathe again.

 

"I can't stop..." A desperate mutter sends another cloud of fire tingling against my ear.

He withdraws just enough to make me realize I ache terribly for the comforting warmth on my skin. I have no time to reflect on this as he takes my chin between his scarred forefinger and thumb, tilting my face slowly so he can lock me down in his black hole eyes.

 

I am a moth, overwhelming adrenaline making me delirious as I'm compelled to open my eyelids and self-immolate.

My stomach floats as though I'm plunging into a cavernous pool. My heart pounds in my throat.

 

Tony's pulse throbs just under the corner of his shaven jaw at the edges of my vision. His lips are drawn tight as though he is in constant, dull pain, fire brown eyes wild and never wavering from my face. His brow furrows, nostrils flare out ferally as his throat struggles to swallow.

 

"This is no game." He confesses, genuine, honeyed baritone forced into a smooth whisper.

 

Something inside me shatters like tempered glass heated much too quickly. Though I don't know this man enough to know if the words he utters are a lie or desperate truth, none of me cares anymore.

I tumble uncontrollably into his lips in a heartbeat, eyes closed.

Bare shoulders twist to smear one hand up through the gelled hair on the back of his head, greedily pulling at his lapel with the other, as though we can merge together if I only try hard enough.

His right hand's between my shoulder blades again, pressing my chest up and towards him, and I eagerly comply. His left hand wraps around my ribcage, holding me up like fine crystal.

A vicious current is thrumming around us, bolts firing between our skin as though we were two Tesla coils.

Tony's breath rushes out in staccato, greedy sighs through his nose as he takes both hands and slips them around either side of my face, tilting his head just slightly. His tongue doesn't need permission this time- we're devouring each other immediately, insatiably, brandy strong in my mouth, air becoming life force shared between us, pushed and pulled into each other's lungs.

 

_Not enough._

 

I'm ablaze, and I feel as though I might turn to ash if I don't get closer.

I've been transformed into some sort of crazed animal, set free for the first time in my life, poked and prodded and pulled into reckless bloodlust by this man, both of us unaware that _I_ was the lion this whole time.

 

 _I_ _am the one I am afraid of._

 

Instead of reacting to this burning revelation with fear, I want to howl. I yearn to devour his very essence.

 

I settle for a low, wanton moan as I exhale through my nose. The slit in crimson silk at my hip parts with one smooth thrust of a thigh. The opposite knee pivots to straddle him, and I never dare to unlock our hungry mouths.

A left hand grasps at the upholstery next to Tony's neck, the right digs hard enough to bruise into the same shoulder I had stitched up weeks ago. Torrents of raw, crackling sexual energy are adept at turning pain into pleasure-- he moans in return, short, falling deep and full of gravel, wrapping both searing hands around my waist and pushing my throbbing cunt down tight against the warm shaft straining at his suit pants.

 

Another involuntary "mmm" at the bottom of his vocal range escapes into my gasping mouth as his hips grind deliberately, needily up against mine.

 

White hot electricity bursts in stars across my vision as my legs pull instinctively against his hips, convulsing slightly every time he raises up against me, sliding over cool silk.

I pull away from his swollen lips to lift my face up and gasp in shocked pleasure at the pressure that echoes from our hips through my chest. The right hand clawing at his solid shoulder grows restless and skates up to bury itself in his damp mahogany mane.

 

Thick fingertips dig into the flesh at my hips before his blazing, calloused palms slide slowly up my bare back, eliciting gooseflesh and another frantic, high-pitched sigh from my lips. His left hand continues to steady me as he raises up, bucking hard as I grind against him, picking up a steady rhythm easily. Scarred fingertips tug gingerly at the silk straps of my dress, sliding them down from my shoulders with a nimble motion before his hot palm slides back over shivering ribs. A silent, cautious press between my shoulder blades draws my chest toward his upturned face. I look down just long enough to catch a glimpse of his wild eyes, pools of dark matter, irises thin as ebony shavings focused intently on the skin he's just bared as deep red lips pout to plant wet heat on a cold collarbone.

His hips slow as he begins to turn his razor sharp focus to my chest, pulling that steadying hand off my hips and nudging down the carmine fabric still clinging to the curve of my breasts. Elegant red slips for a split second against my stomach before pooling like soft blood at Tony's hips. He holds me still for an impossibly long moment, bound by two large hands now spread wide at my ribs, and worships me with a raking gaze.

Panting breath rushes hot from hanging lips, curls across my stomach, my breastbone, my chest while he turns his head down and slowly up again. I tremble in the quiet, growing restless with warm, firm flesh throbbing under me, an ever present reminder of this animal I cannot cease to be.

 

The only sound besides rushed breaths, static of cloth, breathless gasps and moans is the steady whispering hum of the arc reactor. We've been parked for minutes now, Happy having drawn up the partition with a knowing smile as I'd first fallen under the black magic haze of lust and into Tony's lips. I have no idea where we are, but the engine is off, the cabin is in a soft sort of tinted darkness, Happy is long gone, and frankly I couldn't care less.

My vision blurs as he leans in and takes my right breast greedily into his mouth, tugging at it with his searing lips, growl whispering low in his throat. My breath shakes out with a crackling moan and I grind against him again as penance for crushing me under the weight of his lust _._

 _Our lust_.

I don't realize how much my nipples ache until he begins to pay detailed attention to each one in turn, sealing his lips around them and swirling his slick tongue over each aureola, nipping with expert teeth. A starved ache surges into sharp, clenching, ravenous pleasure that piles high in the pit of my stomach.

_Oh god._

Just when I think I can't take any more pressure, he's insisting I reach a new level of insanity. Each moan, every cry and sigh he twists from me has him answering with a strain of his shaft, or a needy rumble in his throat, or both. There is no sweeter music than the gravel in his chest, no purer language than his soft growls.

They are now my only focus, the reason I live.

 

Thick fingers are busy teasing the nipple he's not currently devouring, his left hand swiftly clamps back around my hip and a lack of stimulation on my breasts fades into the haze, leaves a torturous gap. A hand raises to slick lips  _(patchy frostbite on the knuckles, the right)_ and he sucks on his middle and forefinger like he's licking the batter off of them from a cake bowl. His left hand slides under my ass pulling me just barely off of his waist--

 _OH GOD_  --

The right's spit-slick fingers are sliding over sensitive flesh, setting my nerves on fire. My legs clench involuntarily, standing me up a bit more as his rough fingers pull more desperate moans from my mouth and _fuck_ there's his lips around my nipple again.

"Ohhhh…" those same thick, incredibly strong fingers are suddenly sliding into me, straining deliciously against the muscles at my entrance, calloused palm pressed against that mound of nerves, sending stars into my eyes and his name to my lips in a whispered, sacred chant. I throw my head back, gasping for air, clutching at the hair on the back of his head like a lifeline as this hurricane passes over us with earth rending force, and he's _moaning_ lowly into my breast in response to my clinging grip as his fingers thrust insistently.

My croaking whispers become whines, become one long primal cry as my world goes black and sparks sizzle at the edge of my vision and all that exists is the irresistible pull of his mouth and the pulsing hum of that arc reactor and I can't stop convulsing, clenching around those _goddamn_ _incredible_ fingers of his.

As I crash back into reality panting and shivering and sweating, scarred fingers slide slowly out of me and his damp forehead rests against my breastbone, hot breath skipping over my stomach in short bursts. My fingers unravel from his hair but linger at the back of his head, and my free hand is sliding down the nape of his neck, between his suit and dress shirt, caressing those bands of muscle.

His steadying hand is stroking my thigh, back and forth as he catches his breath, restraining it to preserve the silence more than he should.

There's that feeling again, ropes made of ethereal sunlight and silk, tugging at my heart, wrapping and squeezing, and suddenly I want to break down and sob from it-- 

 

_What reverence he showers on a **stranger**..._

 

I pull back on my emotions even as they swell high, prick my eyes with wet stinging heat.

The hurricane settles back into a rising tide, lust leaking from those same tender cords around my heart, integrating with his own aching, long ignored need.

 

_Just how long has it been for him?_


	10. Surprises

**January 16th 10:13pm - Tony Stark's Limousine, Somewhere in Manhattan, NY**

 

My hands slide around either side of his jaw, relishing the rasp of wiry hair. Thumbs slide back and forth over his cheekbones; I lift his face to behold a completely vulnerable, still partially entranced expression, brown eyes piercing into mine. His hair is disheveled, lips glistening from use, patches of blush under his cheeks, crawling down his neck. No newspaper or magazine image could have ever prepared me for the feeling when I saw him this way, sun-silk strings pulling my soul softly towards him, his arms wrapped around my legs, the solid vibrating warmth of his arc reactor pressed to my belly.

His heavy jaw still in my hands, I perch silently back on his knees. Reverence tempers rising lust as I curl down to plant a cautious kiss on his forehead, temple, cheekbone, the bridge of his nose. I tilt his chin up to press his lips to mine, suck just forcefully enough to take his bottom lip between my teeth and nip as I move on, mouth dragging along his prickly jaw. I whisper a sigh into his flushed ear, nip at it ferally.

Rough hands are eternally restless, both of them sliding steadily up and down either side of my ribs, ass, thighs. My teeth graze the tender skin between his jaw and ear, lips suck hungrily on it. Skin soaks in the feeling of the blood pulsing just under the curve of his neck. Sliding off his lap, I manage to stand on bare feet- my knees still shake.

Tony's face follows me up to watch my eyes as I bite my bottom lip in anticipation, peeling the buttons of his dress shirt apart one by one. I lean down to nip at, kiss each swath of skin I reveal. His breathing grows deeper, obvious again after having caught it in the lull.

My lips press impulsively at the arc reactor, despite knowing he can't feel it; strangely it makes the silk strings around my heart jump in a ripple. The tide begins to swirl and foam with new life as I peel his suit coat and shirt off, toss them aside. My mouth spends time tasting fresh scars cutting across his shoulder and stomach, and I melt to my knees between his legs, still bare from the waist up.

He's silent, completely passive, letting me make every move on my own. I can feel his achingly powerful, barely restrained want as I nudge him to lean back, unzipping his pants, hot veined velvet popping free through the seam in his black boxers. He lifts his hips as I tug at his dress pants, slide the fine fabric from his legs, my eyes resting briefly on the form fitting, mechanized titanium brace around one ankle. Free to move between his feet now, I press my breasts up to his cock, run my hands brazenly over his chest, up to his neck, pull him into a slow kiss before I wrap my left hand around the base of his straining shaft, and take him deep into my mouth.

Tony's head thumps against the window of the limo as it falls back, a long, breathless moan falling from his slack jaw. 

 

_Ohhhhh yes. It's been a long time for you too, hasn't it._

 

Lightning cracks blindingly in my core again, stomach clenching at just how unbelievably  _hot_  and  _real_ his primal chokes and gasps are.

 

_Again. More._

 

My right hand slides up his thigh slowly, over the line where abs pull from hipbone, and make a dragging retreat before settling at his balls, squeezing, pulling at them gently through thin dark cloth. My left hand begins to twist, following my lips up his shaft. As I near the velvet tip, I lap against its underside with the flat of my tongue, swirl around his head, wait for the reward of a choked sigh, take pleasure in the long twitch of his cock before descending on it again. Tony bites his lip and moans through his teeth, his eyes clamped shut, his hands gripping the leather on either side of him. My tongue flicks across head at the peak of my lazy bob, over and over, just a bit faster each time.

 

...

_More..._

His knuckles are white as the storm surges over me again and again, in time with my lips sliding up and down his shaft.

I'm not satisfied with this, so I take his cock as far in as I can, head pressing against the back of my throat, turning to polished rock.

 

"...Oh... _fuck…"_   He croaks as though I'm twisting a knife of ecstasy into his guts.

 

I'm only left the width of two spit slick fingers before I feel myself starting to choke, and I begin to repeat this process on a random stroke, threading an arm under his thigh and impaling my throat on him to break up the rhythm.

_Catch him off guard._   _Make him shudder and whisper curses._

 

"Lauren…"

His rasping voice falls like molasses from the side of his mouth as I work his shaft. Powerful fingertips are beginning to dig hard into the seat, abs rolling slightly at the bottom of my stride despite his efforts to be still. Sweat beads on his chest, catching blue light as he pants between delicious half-gasps. I move with urgency now, velvet shaft hardening even more _as if such a thing were possible_ and my name drips from him between little gasps for air. My chest tightens into a moan, lips pressed tight against his head, left hand gripping up in a half spiral, unable to take the noises he's making without adding to them.

 

"Fuck--

_..._

_...Lauren._ "

 

_I_ _'ve never heard my name sound that way…_ I feed him deep into my mouth again, head hard and straining against my throat and he twitches, gasping as though he's drowning.

 

"Lauren--!!" He's trying to tell me he's going to come but I already know- the tide of lust has been whipping up into a monsoon with every stroke, every lap of my tongue. It rumbles, strikes me with ruthless lightning once, twice as I pull hard up to his tip. My tongue swirls one last time before taking him all the way down again, choked moan escaping against the bottom of his shaft.

His arms flex, fingers tearing into the leather seat. Hips twitch up, slamming his head into the back of my throat, leg muscles convulsing as his face screws up into a furrowed brow. Crows feet run deep as he lifts his face up and forces a violent roar from his wide open mouth, teeth bared primally. I feel his cock pulse hard, shooting cum into the back of my throat in several jerking spurts and I have no choice but to swallow and push against him  _(but that would have been my choice anyway)_ as the electric monsoon gradually dies out.

Certain he's done seizing and moaning, I pull him from my lips and wipe my mouth with a victorious grin.

Arms lie limp, draped over the black leather of the limo seat, head bent back and resting against the window, Adam's apple jutting out between thick cords of neck muscle. I watch his chest rise and fall, arc reactor pulsing slowly with the movement as he recovers.

Finally, the storm that's been buzzing in my head for hours, days is fading. I feel a bit like a werewolf waking up from a midnight killing spree with blood in her mouth and adrenaline in her veins.

_Alive_.

Suddenly cold, I gather the straps of my dress back up as I rise shakily in-between Tony's knees. Glazed cocoa eyes open and peer at me, glancing over my neck, my breasts, the chains on my wrist. Longing laps at my toes, with a hint of doubt- neither are mine.

_Doubt? of all the things to feel…_ I smile at how absurd and oddly human this genius-billionaire-superhero is. _To endless surprises…_ I bend down, feeling the brandy and endorphins swirl in my head as I gather his suit jacket and dress shirt up, thread his limp hands through the sleeves, pull the cloth over his shoulders, begin to button the shirt. He watches me with one eye curiously, stone still for the first two buttons. His sun-silk bondage pointedly reminds me it exists again, clutching my heart.

Tony sits up, gathering my hands in his, running his thumbs against my forefingers before pulling me down, legs across his lap. Tired, solid arms wrap tightly around me. He bends his head behind my back, my shoulder in the curve of his neck. The faint hum of the arc reactor muffles another deep sigh.

Icy fear, a twinge of sadness tears through me, back to front. For a brief moment, sharp concern stirs in my own heart.

 

"Hey."

I sit up from leaning against his chest just long enough to make him stop hiding his head in the guise of embrace. My head tilts in that same concern, bleary gaze searching his poker face. I curl the arm trapped against his chest up and around his back, press his head against my breast maternally, hand threaded in the hair on the side of his head. Tony looses yet another deep sigh, ear pressed against my ribcage, surely hearing the steady thrum of my heart. It's almost too easy to give him the afterglow of my own thoughts, to pull the creeping anxiety from him.

"Stop thinking so hard." I whisper, afraid to crack the fragile silence. I feel his cheeks rise against my flesh in a smile.

 

"Am I that easy to read?"

 

"I'm just full of endless surprises, is all." My fingers grip a bit in his hair as unspoken encouragement.

 

"Mmm." He grunts, rubbing his face playfully against my chest, beard tickling me. "Of course."


	11. Void

 

 

January 16th 10:39pm - Tony Stark's Limousine, Somewhere in Manhattan, NY

 

 

Neither of us move for a long time, soaking in the silence, reflecting on what we'd just done. Unbidden thoughts creep into my mind as I continually try to dispel the twist of stalking emotions Tony is radiating, his own intrusive feelings polluting his afterglow.

Anxiety, fear, regret, aching sadness slither into my heart one at a time, and my own annoyance is turning into a growing sense of dread as I push them all down like some twisted whack-a-mole machine. I wonder if these things are all my fault until I realize how his embrace is growing a bit tighter with each passing moment.

 

 

"Tony-" I bury my face in his hair, holding on to the way his fingers feel sliding idly back and forth on my lap.

_What am I? A rebound? An elaborate crutch to mend his grieving heart?...Do I even mind being one?_

I had to think hard on that.

_Yes…yes I do._

 

 

"Lauren." My ribs vibrate as he mimics me, chest pressed tightly against my side. I'm not sure what I even want to say, but the way my name sounds even hanging in the air here, amongst the smell of sex and brandy and musk, makes me realize that words are somehow terribly inadequate.

Tony turns his head up slowly, presses a solemn kiss against my throat. I lay my free hand on top of his, squeezing it still, before digging up the will to slide off his still bare lap.

The silk strings ache, they tug toward him as though they'd burrowed a bridge between us in the silence. I hear his breath suck in slowly as he gathers his pants, hear the too loud 'zzzzip'. Gathering my shoes, I turn to watch him button up the rest of his shirt.

 

"Now what?" I mutter lowly, mostly to myself as he smooths his jacket, gathering up his composure. My hand is at his collar without thought, folding the crooked cloth back into place. He stands still as I work on it, a pang of that aching sadness floating up my throat, pulling my lips taut.

 

He's staring at my mouth, his brow furrows in confusion at what only I know is my drunken lapse in sympathetic control.

"Why the long face?" He mutters, too tenderly.

 

_Damn it._

 

"I'm just…I can feel that you're still grieving."

It feels too forward to say, but I refuse to lie. His lips part, eyes narrow for a second, searching, the cogs turning in his brandied mind. Embarrassment nips at the tops of my ears, likely from both of us. Not sure of what else to do, and tired of bending at such an awkward angle, I move to open the door.

We're in an underground parking garage. I'm not sure what I expected.

"Is this usually where all of us end up?" My brazen remark echoes drunkenly against the empty concrete. I chuckle under my breath.

 

 

"All of who?" Tony sounds genuinely lost behind me.

 

 

"You know, the millions of women who fall under your spell."

My wrist is instantly caught in a vice of thick fingers, pulled with urgency, and I'm spinning around awkwardly like a wobbling top to face him. He's got the other hand on my shoulder in a bracing grip as ashen frustration rushes past me in a dark cloud.

 

"That isn't who I _am_ anymore." He growls dangerously, face like granite, eyes on fire.

My psychotic reptilian base-brain screams in glee, the rest of me gasps in utter surprise.

"Those women came to _me_." Tony spits, voice acid pouring through white teeth. "They wanted to use my fame, my money, my body. They wouldn't have taken a broken… _dog_ in after he'd tried to die and didn't have the _balls_ to follow through." He's shaking- the grip on my wrist is starting to shoot dull pain up my arm.

"None of them have had the _guts_ to come near me after Pepper died." His voice raises to an aching shout.

 

My jaw clenches tight as I stare back at him, trying to mask the paralyzing shock with false bravado. This wounded man is miles, worlds away when he looks at me. A flash grenade of anger and despair bursts from him and I'm blinded for a split second, choking on terror in a vast void, floating helplessly forward in a dimension with no stars. Menacing, angular battleships, hordes of them close in around me- a violently white-hot explosion rocks me soundlessly backwards again, and I understand death as its icy claws wrap around me.

Then…everything goes black.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 

?:??  ?????- (Probably) Manhattan, NY

 

 

I feel my head threatening to burst apart, my blood pounding through me before I have the presence of mind to open my leaden eyes. There's cotton in my ears, and everything is just too fucking bright for a moment while I struggle to adjust. Feral anxiety wracks me, pins and needles surround me- and I can't understand whether the source is internal or external.

_\--What in the f--_

 

A low buzzing fades into my consciousness, and a crisp, matter-of-fact British voice drills mercilessly into my tender head.

 

"Sir, she's waking."

 

I'm squinting hard, incredibly annoyed at whoever's being this loud, trying to find the culprit against the fuzzy white. I find the familiar glow of the arc reactor in the center of a broad silhouette standing up a few feet away, suddenly smell the musk sans brandy. The ache in my head turns to daggers for a moment as I finally pull Tony into focus. He's motionless under my sudden gaze, staring back at me, breath held tight in his chest.

 

"Where am I?" I slide a heavy hand up to block my eyes from the lights above me.

 

"Jarvis, lights at fifty percent." Tony's voice snaps. The room instantly dims.

I sigh in relief.

Somewhere in the corner a robotic hand, like one you might find in a car factory, rolls to the side of the metal table I'm splayed on with a paper cup, something hard rattling inside as it goes.

"Dummy, did I ask for you?" the arm moves down an inch at Tony's hushed reprimand, appearing a bit deflated as it rolls back to the corner.

 

I'm pressing at the corners of my nose in a futile attempt to push back the ache, and as I lower my hand I catch the nickel sized splotches of yellow green trailing up my wrist from the edge of my vision.

_Tony's hand gripping too tight. The despair…oh god…I blacked out._

This is completely unprecedented. My head swims, heart races as I try to piece together what I saw before everything went dark. I can feel Tony gazing at my wrist, eyes lost in recent memory, shame swelling up, another thing to fight back.

_I'm too old for this shit._

 

"Tony, _where am_ I." I croak out again, and his eyes snap back to my face, to the present.

 

 

"You're in my workshop. You…ahh…" I'm beginning to think the quick witted persona he projects is a load of crap, given how many times he's been speechless in the brief time fate has thrown us together.

 

"She fainted, sir." There's that clipping British voice again. Tony's glaring at the ceiling.

 

"Thanks, Jarvis- I can handle it."

 

"Of course sir." I'd laugh if my brain didn't threaten to leak out of my ears.

 

"Lauren I'm sorry." He's slinking up to the side of the table, hands wringing. I attempt to sit up, sliding my legs off the edge, head spinning, but I manage it as the blood pounds oppressively in my ears.

 

"What happened?"

 

"I…I don't know, I was angry and I shouldn't have been, I wasn't even angry at _you_ … but…you just…you had this look in your eyes, like I was a ghost, and…" He sighs, reaching reflexively for my bruised wrist, his hand stopping just before he touches me. "You went ragdoll on me." His shame pushes a lump into my throat and I swallow it down stubbornly.

 

"How long have I been out?" Brown eyes burn a hole into my wrist. _I don't fucking care about a bruised wrist, I'm not some broken bird._

 

"About four hours now." _Jesus Christ, the fun never ends._ "I'm sorry." His voice drips with an undercurrent of genuine regret.

 

 

"Oh for Christ's _sake_ Tony, they're just bruises." The words come out hard and drop to a soft reassurance. A corner of my lips turns up in a weak smile, my head turns down as I sneak a gaze at his stony face. "They don't even hurt." My bruised hand flies up to cup his cheek.

He closes his eyes, crows feet and lips drawn down as I touch his face. Leaning the smallest bit into my fingers, he pulls his own calloused hand up to press my cold palm tighter to his face. I center myself with great effort, try to pull the hurt, the shame from him, breathe it out in a deep sigh. When I open my eyes again, the crows feet are gone, but I still feel some of the shame bubbling just under his skin.

 

"Stay with me." he says, breaking the quiet buzzing of his chest with low gravel. He's piercing me with those sad eyes again.

_He'll be the death of me._


	12. Stay

 

 

January 17th 2:05am, Avengers Tower- Manhattan, NY

 

 

"Please." Tony's eyes plead. "Stay with me."

 

I nod, flashing him a tight pained smile, sliding cautiously down from the workbench.

"Promise me something, Tony."

 

"Anything."

 

"If I ever black out again, bring me to a couch or something."

His breath rushes out in the admission of humor that comes so easily in the midst of tension.

 

"Done."

_Why do I get the feeling this won't be an isolated occurrence?_ The skeptic in me rears its head again, having been kidnapped by brandy for too long.

"Dummy, that's your cue." Up rolls the robotic hand again, still faithfully clutching the cup. I smile, the apparent personality in his mechanical assistant just too adorable to be ignored. "Where's the water?" Tony chides as I take the cup from its three metal 'fingers' The arm falters a bit, turning around as if searching for something. "Remind me why I built you?" The robot is already on its way back to me with a bottle.

 

"Tony," I barely contain a giggle, beginning to forget my splitting headache even without the painkiller in my hand, "maybe you should have built it with more than one hand."

 

I clumsily bobble the bottle as Dummy drops it a bit too early.

Tony rolls his eyes in impatience at his creation. "Rude! Go to your corner."

 

"Thank you." I nod graciously at the maligned piece of mechanical genius. It pauses a bit, almost in acknowledgement, before rocking on its wheels back from whence it came.

As I pop the pill into my mouth and raise the bottle to my parched lips my eyes flick up to Tony again, standing with his arms crossed, a lazy smirk plastered on under misty brown eyes. I drink the water as though it's the last I'll ever see, all the while listening to the sun silk squeeze me again.

 

"No one's been polite to that piece of scrap in years." he thinks out loud.

 

"Poor thing." I muse pitifully.

 

Tony slips his fingers around my wrist, steps close to me as he brings the bruises up to his warm lips, kisses each one tenderly. I watch as he pulls my wrist into his view, bites his lip.

"You know, I really thought that would work."

 

"It needs to soak in for about a week." I say, matter-of-factly.

 

"Hmm. Well, you would know." He winks playfully at me before letting my wrist slide out of those large hands. His head flicks in the general direction of the stairs leading upwards. "Let me show you around a little."

 

 

There were swimming pools and saunas, bars, a dance floor, an arcade, the most technologically advanced gym I've ever laid eyes on, and various other rooms for various other pastimes occupying five floors below the helipad level. Anything below that was (surprise!) office space, boardrooms and R&D labs.

Or so I was told, because Tony isn't the type who's blockheaded enough to tour every floor of a skyscraper with a woman who's just been unconscious on a metal table for four hours.

He _is_ , however, the type to have the fluffiest Egyptian cotton bathrobes known to man, and a tea collection that would put the Queen of England to shame.

 

His tour concludes _thank you sweet baby Jesus_ in a sprawling bedroom, a fire already lit in an extravagant white marble fireplace, down comforter turned down over a California King, waiting patiently for someone, anyone to use it. My toes play in the cushy carpet as I pad over to the fireplace, sink into a couch covered in the softest pillows, sip from my mug of Rooibos.

_This room is so low tech, how strange. I like it._

Tony stands at the door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed as he watches me curl up like some large housecat.

"Is this a spare?" I wonder out loud, rubbing some fatigue from my eyes.

 

"It's mine." He's falling into the pillows beside me, draping his arms over the back of the couch, stretching his legs out, feet towards the fire.

My eyes narrow a tick, I take a large sip of my tea to buy some thinking time.  _How contradictory..._ It soaks warm into my chest, and the welcome feeling bids me close my eyes for a moment.

 

Tony's heart is quiet for the first time since I've met him. There are no pinpricks of anxiety, there's no icy fear, no slimy guilt, no heavy sadness. I have to concentrate to feel into him, and all I find there is a faint undercurrent of lust, crackling playfully like static when two wool blankets pull apart in the dark.

When I really listen like this, his arc reactor registers almost like an emotion would, but it's more close to sight than feeling, like I can sense its exact position even if I were blind.

_Wait, what…? Why would that…_

It was baffling that a mechanical, inorganic engine would have any effect at all on my empathic abilities.

 

I remember, somewhere in the background of my mind, reading the case study on Tony's palladium poisoning in a medical journal long before he was more than a picture on a page, or some faraway magnet for cameras. And yet, even though the journal had concluded that the poisoning would be inevitably fatal if his reactor were not removed (which anyone knew was fatal in and of itself without extremely high risk surgery), the arc reactor is still firmly centered where his breastbone should be, and the flesh around it's no longer riddled with sickly, dark geometric deposits.

_Would it be too personal to ask? Is it a secret?_

I have a hunch the answer to my sensory riddle may be the same thing that has solved his problem.

 

Realizing that I'm lost in a long train of thought with my eyes closed, I look back down into the amber liquid I love as I incorporate more of its essence.

 

"Rooibos." Tony stares through my cup as he mutters softly. "Jarvis, I need twice as much Rooibos in the next supply run."

"Yes, sir." I'm a bit unnerved by the voice coming from nowhere, like a British god-servant.

"Must be nice." I laugh softly, listening to the happy crackle of the fire.

"Hmm?" He's looking through me again.

"To have a British god-servant." The comment catches him off guard and I'm rewarded with a glimpse of a canine, shining in the firelight.

 

"Sadly, I take him for granted on a daily basis. Which, I've found, is par for the course." The end of his words spit a small cloud of sadness at me. "He's not a very good conversationalist, but he's all I've got at night." His eyes shift to mine, but they look through me, whether from fatigue or remembrance, I can't decipher.

Gulping the last of the tea down before it gets too cold, I stand and shuffle up to Tony, his face turning up to me as though I were north and his nose a compass needle. I reach down and begin to unbutton the now very wrinkled dress shirt again, but this time I'm quite sober, and unpossessed by need.

_Seven years…all this time I thought I was better off alone._

 

Tony cracks a weary smile, the bags under his eyes all too obvious in the flickering orange flames.

"Wh-" My finger flies up to his mouth, shushing him before quickly returning to aid my other hand with the buttons over his reactor. I can feel lust pooling a few inches deep at my feet, but it's not quite what I'm aiming for this time. Tony's completely compliant as I peel his shirt away from his arms, toss it on a nearby chair.

 

"How long have you been on that ankle?" I chastise him.

"Long enough…" He answers coyly, "...Doctor." I hang stubbornly onto my poker face, but my eyes smile.

"You know I'm not an M.D."

"It's not another surprise?"

"Are you surprised that you aren't surprised?"

 

"Hmm. Checkmate?" Tony concedes defeat with an exhausted sort of smile. My lips draw up far enough to show teeth and I shake my head in mock exasperation. My scalp thanks me as I fumble with bobby pins, taking out Girard's masterpiece strand by strand, still standing in front of shirtless Tony.

The want is up to my ankles, prompting an internal sigh. My hair falls in loose, chest length helices as I finally finish my task. "Is this a shampoo commercial? I think I'm in a shampoo commercial. Are there cameras over there?" He quips through weary gravel.

 

"Shut up, Stark." I bite back playfully, removing the ridiculously extravagant jewelry and pooling it on a side table at arms length. His jaw drops in exaggerated shock.

 

"I haven't read the script but I'm pretty sure that's not your line." I'm laughing too loud for three in the morning; the sun silk tugs me toward him again briefly as I do.

 

I kneel down, untie the thin black laces of his shoes and slide them gently off. Dragging up his pant leg, I fumble through the flat titanium latches of his brace and gingerly remove it. His ankle is clearly swollen, bruises purple and deep-- my tongue clucks in soft disapproval, hands running over the clammy skin of his calf.

He has no response for me but the falling of his eyelids and a deep, relieved sigh. I sit back down beside him and grasp at one thick forefinger, pull him down to me, taking his head in my lap as he gazes up at my face through adoring, bleary eyes.

"Put your feet up, ridiculous man." I coo, barely above a whisper. He complies, propping sock feet up on the broad couch arm. Lazy fingers pull through his hair, mussing off what's left of the gel with lazy strokes as his lips part placidly, twitch upward in contented pleasure.

It seems too simple a thing to unwind the last remaining traces of his anxiety, restlessness as the fire dances, slowly dying. "How long has it been since you've slept?" I whisper.

 

"I dunno." His tongue can barely form around the words.

 

"Tony…" I chide lowly. He lies silent, putty under my fingertips.

The lust drains stubbornly away as I feel him slip into sub consciousness.

 

 

\---???---

 

...

_Pick up the phone Pepper…_

_I'm not coming home…_

 

A ringtone hums over the deafening static of thrusters.

 

_..._

_Please Pepper…_

 

Icy fear. Searing regret. Thrusters cut as the ringtone clicks dead.

 

_Please…_

 

Endless void. Choking sorrow.

 

_Please…_  -- _!_

 

Violent, blinding, soundless light.


	13. Choke

January 17th 4:42am, Avengers Tower- Manhattan, NY

 

"PLEASE!!" Tony's voice chokes on a scream as my eyes snap open. Confusion is dwarfed by the sheer power of his despair as my eyes fly open, lock on to the white blue of the reactor heaving in his chest at my lap. He's sweating, gasping for air, eyes clamped shut. Tears well in my eyes even as they roll back into my head. _No time…_ I have no time to find some shred of calm in me to assuage him so I choose instead to soak the pain up. In an instant I'm tearing apart at the seams, a wavering, high whine leaving my lips. It's like throwing a sponge into a bathtub. I'm crying uncontrollably, the most agonizing pressure is against my chest. _Death is better than this._ A hairline crack slides into my psyche, threatening insanity.

He's awake, breathless, tears rimming his bloodshot eyes as he slides from my lap onto his knees, shuffles over to me, gathers me up into his arms. We fight our way up out of the abyss, clinging to each other.

 _I'm sorry…oh god…_ "I'm so sorry…" I choke through shivering breaths and burning tears, too distraught to realize that it's being said out loud, or the implications thereof. His fingertips are curling around the hair spilling down my back, his face buried in my shoulder as I lean completely on him.

"Shhhh…" His breath warms my shoulder. Even as he trembles he's found the solid ground and begins to console me first. If I were more sane, I'd understand just how backwards that is. My mind heals slowly, I come back into myself and begin to force deep breaths, falling back into what I'd learned from meditation. _Focus_. _It'll be alright. Wheat fields, ball bearing grease, Father's strong hands picking me up, lifting me into the tractor seat…_ I come back to the present, Tony's shaking arms tight around my ribs, the logs nothing but glowing embers, cracked black and orange. The dawn was coming soon through the wall of glass on the far end of the room, painting the sky in a lighter shade of endless blue than the terrifying midnight we both saw in our dreams.

"Tony…are you alright?" My voice slips fragile as stained glass from my lips. It felt like a stupid, but mandatory question as I got a grip on the pulling despair, pushing it back down, away from my core. He loosens the grip on my hair, pulls away to raise his face and behold mine, raises a trembling hand to push a tear from my cheek. His breath comes out in a shaky half laugh of absurdity, completely confused by my mirrored anguish. Red brown eyes analyze, squint in the soft blue shining from underneath him, calculations not adding up as he tries to understand.

"Do you realize that _you_ are crying?"

"I'm alright…I'm fine."

"No you aren't."

"Better than you." My voice holds a faux, shaky finality. He laughs again, that breathless, single puff of air that comes when any humor amidst pain is welcomed with an open heart.

"Tell me what it is." He demands stubbornly in a breathy whisper.

"Can we lay down first?" I clench my fist to stop it from shaking. _Soak it up, Lauren. Great fucking plan, that._ He winces as he kneels, then stands with his good leg. I'm up under his shoulder, arm wrapped back around his hips they way we were at the very start.

"You aren't so good for my ego sometimes." He rasps as he limps, trying not to lean on me on the way to the bed.

"Depends on your definition of good, doesn't it?" I settle into Tony's shoulder, head on the meat of his chest, letting the white blue light hum steadily next to me, hearing his heart pump reassuringly underneath.

"Comfy?" His voice rumbles loudly in the ear pressed to his warm skin.

"Mmm." I slide my arm across his stomach, pulling myself closer to his warmth under the down comforter. His arm flexes behind me as he pulls his fingers slowly through the hair draping down my back, pooling next to us.

"Tell me now." Tony's words are insistent, a quiet demand. I sigh. _Why can't he have a shit memory?_

"Tony… it's so hard to explain-"

"-aa aa. You're an eloquent woman, now spill."

"I don't think you realize the implications of this confession you're forcing."

"See what I mean?" I draw in a deep breath, drag out the silence as he waits, undeterred. "Try me, Lauren." His face is straining down, nose is burying itself in my hair, he's holding me tighter under his shoulder. _Just say it._

"I'm a mutant." He freezes as my confession soaks in. In an abrupt rush of movement he picks up his head and drags himself backwards to sit up, forcing me either to sit with him, or to slide gracelessly onto the bed. I choose the former, searching his piercing eyes.

"Come again?"

"I am a mutant, Tony."

His head tilts, he squints harder, trying to understand. "Really?"

I shove my gripping fear that he'll send me away down, with little success.

"It's hard to see it… I'm not shooting fire from my fingers or changing color or anything like that.. but, I have this…oh…how do I explain?" My eyes are cast down at a random spot on the expanse of comforter, afraid to move. He's still as stone, waiting. Not even his fingers are fidgeting. _Oh this is bad…_ Another valiant effort to push away the growing dread. "I call myself an 'empath'. Feelings, emotions are things I can grapple with, like you might with physical objects. Except… oh _damn_ this is like trying to explain what color is to a blind man." I sigh heavily before continuing. "Examples, maybe. When I took you in, I could feel your desperation. I understood that you had wanted to die. And... I can manipulate emotion as well- when you dreamed of Pepper, in the cabin…I thought of something comforting and sort of… gave that feeling to you." I glance back up at him without moving a muscle, see rapt concentration and a stony poker face. Doubt begins to pull from him, panic wells up in me. "There is something about you that I can't control… that I don't understand…You feel like a magnet to me, pulling my emotions from me, pushing yours into me. I become exhausted, just trying to guard against the constant erosion. My whole life, I've had to _try_ to feel other people, to make other people feel what I did, but with you…I have to try not to. And I wish, I wish so hard… that I didn't feel your doubt right now." A tear falls from my eye silently, the sheets soak it up hungrily, I stare at the darker spot it leaves behind in the the fabric, cold inside. _Who could love a mutant?_ A voice from years ago echoes in my head, a long forgotten hurt floats up to the top of my throat, choking me.

_...Who…could love a mutant?..._


	14. Demons

  **January 17th 5:03 am, Avengers Tower- Manhattan, NY**

 

It takes an eternity for him to move. When he does, he's pulling my chin up with his strong fingers, forcing me to find a place just under his eyes to find the detail in.

 

"No, you look at me now." He both protests and commands, his face firm. "So you're saying that whatever I feel, you feel?"

 

I sniff softly, angry at the tears, how weak I am in front of a man I barely know.

"The other way around too…I mean…if I'm not strong enough to hold it back-"

 

"But you can't read my thoughts. You really don't know what that doubt is about, do you."

 

 _The point is, of course, a valid one._  Reason's voice has been pushed against a corner by my cynical intuition.

"I can take an educated guess." My gaze runs from his again, as a breathless half laugh escapes my lips, like a fist beating hopelessly against stone.

 

"Look at me." He barely shakes my jaw between his fingers, an effective reprimand. Those hopelessly beautiful lashes lining the bottom of his eyes lift up as he tries to hold my gaze, fingers tightening pointedly on my chin. "Take it."

 

Another tear burns angrily as it slides down my face, clings to my chin, spreads between where my skin ends and his thumb begins.

 _Please. Don't make me say it for you…_ "…Tony-"

 

" _Take_ it." His jaw clenches tight, muscles rising in defiance as his lips draw thin.

 

 _This is why we don't fall in love, Lauren._ A wet grey hopelessness surges unchecked within me. I'm almost drowning at the thought I might never feel the true trust of another human being for the rest of my life.  _Truth breeds suspicion._ _Lies breed trust._

_No one should know you're a mutant._

_This is why._

"You're afraid I've been manipulating you. You doubt anything you felt… was real." I can barely stop my throat from closing around the last two words, but I manage to choke them out.

 

He holds my chin so still, he's frozen, save for the pulse thrumming at his throat. Time comes to a halt as I wait for inevitable confirmation. Sadness tears at my stomach, his mixing with mine, silty mud in the cold water.

After a lifetime, he shakes his head slowly from side to side, eyes never leaving mine, jaw still clenched.

"You're wrong."

 

My eyes widen as the rough fingers pushing at my chin slide to one cheek, and I watch his chest flex as his other hand arrives at the opposite side of my face. The intensity of his gaze is burning me, I can't help it when I close my eyes, jaw slack from the ache in my throat. I can feel the blood surging at the tips of his fingers rhythmically, hear his breath as it gradually quickens.

Under the swirling current of doubt, despair, I can barely make out the sun silk ropes tugging at me, like a name I can't quite remember.

 

"Lauren." He's pulling at my tight jaw with both hands, slowly, irresistibly.

I have no choice but to raise up on despair heavy limbs and crawl until he's near enough to hook his arms under my shoulders and pull me in. Tony presses my head against his shoulder, my chest half covering his, his arms holding me tightly against his warm body. I should recognize this as acceptance, but I'm just so certain that this is the end of our short time, so sleep deprived and delirious. The sharp, midnight blue sorrow simmering in me raises up and pounces the way it did when I was little and my father would hug me tightly- as though an acknowledgement of what I feel by someone I care for… _someone I love…_ rips open the floodgates I've been trying so valiantly to keep shut. I cling to him madly, breath rushing out in soft wavering pants as tears sting, my throat _so_ tight and aching.

"Shhhh…" His lips whisper softly, warm, wet air curling at the back of my neck. 

 

 _Stop it, you damned idiot. What happened to not needing love? You're acting like a child._ The piece of me that hates weakness rears up and fights with all its might. I use a sleeve of the bathrobe to wipe my face stubbornly, but I can't bring myself to sit back from his grip, as though those continually weaving sun-silk strings will pull so tight that I'll rip apart.

"What then?" I mumble into his shoulder, attempting to brace myself, to start a fire in my cold damp heart. A heavy sigh sends the hair on the back of my neck fluttering.

 

"It's only fair, I guess." Tony rumbles, fear stabbing me through him. "Shit." He spits, like he's just stubbed a toe. "I'm no good at this."

 

_Serves you right._

 

Tony's arms tighten around me for a long moment. "My father didn't exactly sit me down and say, 'hey son, one day you're going to have to talk about your _feelings_ , and tell an incredible woman why you're _completely_ fucked up.'"

 

I find the courage in his half confession to sit up under my own power, look back at him through red eyes. Tony averts his gaze quickly, the smirk at his lips pulling down. This time I'm the one gazing fiercely at eyes that won't meet me, still as steel.

 

"Alright, here we go." Tony rolls his eyes in exasperation at himself, long lashes glinting in the firelight behind us. "So doubt. Ahh…" He lifts a hand from my back to muss his own hair, rub his face roughly. "Well we've known each other for what, two days? Two weeks? I don't know how to count it. _Fuck_ , this is crazy." Both hands are pulling at his face now as though he's wiping mud away. I grab them both, pull them into my lap, my resolve breaking much too easily.

 

"Tony you don't have to--"

 

"--Yeah... yeah I do." Fierce, fearful eyes glance back at me for a split second before he finds the monogram stitched into my robe and tries to burn a hole in it, brown eyes growing a bit wilder. "Hell if I make the same mistake twice." He mutters nearly under his breath, the riddle scratching at the back of my mind, making my eyes narrow a bit.

"I 'doubt' because… if you can't keep what I feel from affecting you, I'll drive you just as crazy as me. The night terror you just went through? That's every night. Every. Night."

 

I focus on the bags under his eyes with renewed understanding. _To be hounded by your own mind like that for so long..._

 

"I was telling you the truth, I honestly don't remember the last time I slept through a night. Hell, I don't remember the last time I made the conscious decision _to_ sleep. It just takes me under…when I can't fight it anymore."

 

 _Takes him under._ The pang of fear rips through me again on his words. I swallow it down, listen intently.

 

"It's been this way for, what, three years?"

 

 _What??_ _Pepper was ...alive then._

 

 "Well, since the Battle for New York, basically."

 

 _Oh..._ _oh no._

 

A sudden breath forces his chest open. Tony sighs forcefully- as though he'd forgotten to breathe. "I'm _crazy_ , Lauren... I'm damaged goods."

 

 _Since the Battle of New York…_ Like 9/11, I remembered every second of what I saw on the television screen during that battle. Who wouldn't? My brain pulls up the vision of Tony's suit attached to the underbelly of a missile, thrusters flaring at full capacity as it redirects its course up, up into the sky--- into the gaping hole in the universe with those menacing beings pouring from it, violent grains of sand through a cosmic hourglass. I remembered the Pentagon called them 'Chitauri" in a press conference after the fact… after the cameras saw Tony fly through that hole, saw him fall back again from the sky, like an action figure dropped from a little boy's hand. _The battleships… that endless void._ It all fell into place, slamming stone cold on my heart.

_No wonder he wants me to work for him._

 

Tony laughs, a vicious bitter laugh, his eyes worlds away again, fixed on the dying logs across the room.

"What kind of hero am I?" His despair grabs at my throat again.

 

Anger, tenderness well up within me, a crude oil fire on tropical water.

"You really are insane." I spit at the headboard before turning my face to see him draw himself back to this room from the hole in the sky, to look at me genuinely stunned, with the deepest wound in his soul, blindsided by my words. I shift up to sit on my knees.

"What special kind of idiot…" Both my hands are on both of his shoulders, digging in firmly with my fingertips as I push him slowly back to lay on the pillows behind him, his abs flexing in stunned resistance the whole way. His eyes are still a raw wound, jaw slightly slack like he'd been punched.

"…asks that kind of question…" I move slowly, smoothly as I straddle his hips, trapping the comforter over his lap with my knees. I slip my hands on either side of his tight jaw, his eyes softening a bit but still hurt.

"…after throwing his life into a black hole- without hesitation- to save everything he's ever loved." My voice falls to a whisper as I lean over him, my chest parallel to his. Silently, gently, I draw his face up between my hands and kiss him as tenderly as I've ever kissed in my life.

 

Everything dies away around us, all the hurt, the fear- the static in my head falling to a murmur. Tony is only one of two men in the world who know what I'd desperately hidden my whole adult life and here he is underneath me, broken and beautiful. Here he is, war-scarred eyes closing in rare peace, powerful arms pulling me past the few inches left between us to press tightly against him, and he _knows_.

_"you've saved him…"_

_No more hiding…no more secrets._ He lays beneath me knowing what I could do, knowing what he does to _me_ , and I feel overwhelmed by the freedom- I had been held captive by my fear for so long that I hadn't even noticed my fetters until they fell away. Sun silk surges bright within me and I pick the tendrils up, feel them reach into him, snake around the light of the arc reactor, wrapping tight, weaving and shining and pushing out the tortured darkness hiding in him.

 

My eyes fall open to see his looking back into me, our slightly parted lips pressed together, our breath sustaining one another. His arms relax their grip, thousands, millions of shining soft threads soaking through him, filling the gashes in his soul, getting brighter and warmer as they travel back to me, feedback beginning to take hold. Glowing brown eyes lose their focus on me, his arms drop slowly in surrender, spread out like wings, palms to the sky. His stunned gaze turns up to hide behind hooded eyelids, under sweeping lashes as the tendrils' glow becomes so bright, the peace and acceptance, the compassion so powerful that we become like two stars in a binary system, swirling, essences giving endlessly to each other. His jaw lies slack as the threads swell, echoing and pulsing- until between us, really and truly, is what can only be called bliss.

 

An ache begins, dull and nagging, at the back of my skull as I pour every ounce of effort into this spell I'm casting. My breath grows heavy, my muscles weak, but none of it matters. Sweat beads on my forehead, my heart begins to pound, ears ringing. Gradually I spend the last drip of my energy, threads between us becoming fewer in number, staying within him. My forearms, pressed on either side of his shoulders, begin to tremble. Deciding that I'd rather not spoil the moment by flopping like some dead animal onto him, I use the last scrape of my willpower to slide over to his side, leg still draped across his, one hand over his reactor, obscuring the light. My throbbing head rests heavy on his shoulder, the pain falling away as I slip into unconsciousness.


	15. Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up--if you've been keeping up, I've added a few paragraphs to the last chapter.

January 17th 11:46am, Avengers Tower- Manhattan, NY.

My breath rushes in as I come to, not immediately remembering where I am. There's sunlight on sleek stone and metal walls, white pillows surround me like warm snowdrifts. The time is displayed not on an alarm clock, but in the corner of a glass wall that looks out over the Manhattan skyline. A white marble fireplace lies dormant on the wall across from me, couch sitting lonely in front of it, a side table glitters with platinum and diamonds. _…Tony._ The memories of our ordeal earlier this morning rush in and I process them one at a time. _The limo…what a long night it's been since then._ My mind lingers on remembering the way his mouth tasted. _Honey and salt and metal…_ my ears ring with the moans and gasps I was responsible for. I lie there wrapped in white cotton, letting it soak into my bones, lest I ever forget the feeling. _But where is he?_

"Uhh… Jarvis?" I feel silly, talking to thin air.

"How can I assist you madam?" The voice cut through the room, everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Where is Mr. Stark?"

"I apologize, that information is classified." My head falls back onto the pillows. It takes a moment to remember that he's undertaken the responsibility of keeping the world safe, and that was a reality I had yet to confront.

"Are... you allowed to say when he'll be…unoccupied?"

"Yes madam. His work should be completed near 1pm." _Hmph. How does it?...he? know that._

"Do you keep track of him all the time?" The reply to my query takes a moment, as if this AI is deciding for itself what it should or should not say. _Such a strange concept, the discretion of a executable program. Either that, or Tony hasn't defragmented some giant hard drive somewhere in a long time._ I laugh a bit at myself.

"As much as I can, madam." That made me feel better, strangely.

"Good." I mutter, realizing this wasn't anything Jarvis could work with, unsurprised when no answer came.

Ordinarily I preferred to be alone, as I had most of my life. Something happened to me in those last 24 hours that flipped my preferences on their head. It was as though I'd had a complete personality shift, and without Tony here to distract me from myself, I was running comparisons. _Jesus Christ…it took me months to do with Eric what I'd done with Tony in…two weeks? Two days?_ A smile quirked at the corners of my mouth as I realize how I'm mirroring his words. _What is it about him?_ It was as though his own rash temperament had temporarily infected me. There were two explanations for this, that I could come up with. Either whatever it was that made his emotions bleed slowly into me affected who I was as a person on a basic level… or it was the alcohol. _Gotta be the alcohol._

I'm pulled from my train of thought by a knock on the door. _Who?_ It wasn't Tony, I knew without thinking-- there was no reactor near me. I wrap the robe tight around me, stretch up like a cat on a scratching post before I pad over to the door and pull it open. "Room service." Happy stood before me, the earthy vanilla smell of the rooibos tea he was holding in one hand greeting me warmly. I couldn't help but smile at how quickly my greatest weakness had been found out. In his other arm were my scrubs, now clean and folded neatly. _I could definitely get used to this._

I take the cup with a small bow, the scrubs with a faint smile, averting my eyes a bit.

"Thanks, Happy." A blush flares at my cheeks, thinking about how he had surely heard some of the drunken debauchery in the limo last night before he had managed to park.

"No problem." His eyes flick to my cheeks, and he's laughing under his breath. "What? It’s not like you answered the door naked."

"Were you expecting me to?"

"No…in general I expect the opposite of what I would have before. It's kind of nice."

I smirk at that. "You're a patient man, I can tell already." I muse, sipping at the steaming mug.

"You're too kind."

"How did you know I was up?"

"Jarvis's fault. He's a tattletale like that."

"I am under orders from Mr. Stark to ensure the miss is taken care of while he is away." I startle as Jarvis breaks into the conversation.

"Relax, J, I'm just kidding." Happy sighs. "Anyway, I'm under those orders too. Anything you want, just let me know. He's given me an allowance to use in case you need anything over the weekend." _The weekend?_

"Uh…" I'm rendered temporarily stupid at the news.

"Oh he didn't tell you? I guess he spoke with the Dean yesterday and got you off the hook for the rest of the week."

 _What the hell am I going to do with that man._ I think, exasperated. That reptile curled up inside me tried to tell me it had a few ideas. Between the cabin and this, I'd had more time off than the last 5 years combined. I was afraid I'd shrivel up and die.

"...Allowance?" The word makes me feel like I'm a teenager. The decade or so of age difference between Stark and I doesn't help this sentiment much. 

"Ten thousand, on anything you want."

My eyes widen in shock, although the logical part of me knows it's probably nothing to Tony. "Jesus, Happy." He's laughing heartily at my shock, a mitt of a hand smacking me familiarly on the shoulder.

"Oh yeah, definitely expecting the opposite with you." _Is that a good thing? I feel like that's a good thing._

I cross my fluffy white arms, a little annoyed at the assumption that I'd just be pleased to waltz around in the Stark Tower like a glorified housecat. I was even more annoyed at myself for actually _being_ pleased at the prospect.

"So, anything? No?" Happy gives me a grin.

"Well shit, I need undies, but I'd die a slow death before sending you out for _that_." I wish for a brief moment that my house in Brookline, Mass. was about 200 miles closer. _Looks like I'm shopping in scrubs._

"I mean, I'd be fine with that-"

"Happy no, for my sanity if nothing else." I can't tell if he looks relieved or disappointed, and I'm too sick of using my empathic power to find out. "I can just walk down the block a ways and get some myself."

Happy's brow furrows a bit. "That would be… unwise." _What the hell does that mean?_

"Madam, Mr. Stark has forbidden you from leaving the Tower- particularly on foot- until he returns." Jarvis states, matter-of-factly.

Anger flares up in me. The fastest way to get me to do something is to tell me I can't. "What kind of bullshit…" my teeth grit against the words as Happy raises his open hands in a defensive gesture.

"It's not like that-- Christ, Jarvis! You make it sound like he's kidnapping the poor woman." Happy motions sheepishly into the bedroom. "May I?"

I try to mask my annoyance. "It's not my room Happy, do what you want." I don't succeed very well. He motions me to follow as he walks in and swiftly over to the wall of glass.

"Look." He points down at the street far below. People crawl like ants swarming a sugar cube on the sidewalk. "Do you see all of them?" Happy mutters. "Those aren't tourists. Those are vultures ready to pick your bones clean as soon as you peek your head out the lobby doors, scrubs and all." It takes a moment to realize that we were in a very public place last night, despite it being high class. "Tony hasn't been on a date anywhere, with anyone, in _two years_. The media is shitting its pants right now."

"Ohhhhhhhh god." I groan. The reality of my situation made my head hurt. _Hang on a minute._ "Wait, he hasn't?" A pregnant pause sits between Happy and I as I stare down at the street. _"None of them have had the_ guts _to come near me…_ " Tony's tortured voice echoed in my mind.

"I mean let's be honest here, Dr. Hunter-"

"Lauren."

"-Lauren. Pepper…she changed him. For better or worse." _Both._ Heavy, awkward silence settles around us both as keep my gaze on the street far, far below.

"Do you play pool, Happy?" My voice shoos the quiet away. _I'm sick of quiet._

"Does a bear shit in the woods?"

I laugh softly, still staring down. "I'll meet you in the game room in about 30, does that sound good?"

"You got it." His shoes scuff away, the door clicks, and I'm left, gaze locked below on the writhing mass of humans below. _What have you gotten yourself into Lauren?_


	16. Brand New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incoming sexy fun. Tony's insatiable.

January 17th 12:26pm, Stark Industries Tower- Manhattan, NY.

"Three ball, side pocket." The pool stick launches smoothly, cue ball clicks off my intended target. Bright orange rolls happily into the hole as Happy groans. "Beginner's luck, don't act so fatalist."

"You're a terrible liar." He chalks up his weapon of choice, cigar hanging from his teeth. I laugh lightly as I line up another shot. "Some broad." Happy shakes his head in disbelief.

"What is this, the 1940's? Four in the corner." I grin, chewing on the cigar in my own mouth as the balls crack merrily together at my will. The deep purple orb skips across the table, grazes the edge and thumps into its rightful place. My opponent sighs.

"Beginner's luck my ass."

"So how long have you known Tony?" I ask, lining up another shot.

"Oh god, I don't want to think about it…what, 8 years? 9?"

"Five, side pocket." My shot is overzealous, the ball slams off the ledge lining the hole and rolls away indignantly.

"Finally, Christ."

I reply only by taking a long draw of the cigar, pungent smoke curling out of my mouth as I exhale.

"For better or worse…what did you mean?"

Happy sighs heavily. "Thirteen, side pocket." The ball sinks obediently. "I don't know…" His meaty hand rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly. "…He…really loved her, you know? He blew up his entire arsenal just to show her that. She grounded him, she made him think about the consequences of his actions more than he ever did before her." Happy stalks around the table, trying to pick a good angle, distracted by the question. "He still kinda blames himself for the way she went." I remove the cigar from my mouth, tapping ashes into a glass tray resting on the bar.

"Fifteen, side pocket." Happy was far away as he thought about his answer, but his pool ball ricochets off the table's bumper and slides easily into the declared hole. "I don't suppose you read anything about it?" I shake my head, eyes resting on the table.

"I tend to be pretty far removed from the outside world most of the time in my work."

A long silence sits heavy as Happy leans on his pool stick. "Did you hear anything about the extremis virus?"

"That I know intimately. Pentagon had me working on it independently to stabilize it some years ago, before Tony beat me to it on his own."

"That's the thing. He figured it out, but it turns out that if someone is infected by the unstable version, even if they're stabilized later, about one in four people-"

"Manifest aggressive glioblastoma." I finish his sentence, tying his thoughts together gravely.

"…Yeah." Happy grinds his cigar into the ashtray, a heavy sense of loss coloring his slow movements. "The sick asshole who invented it infected her with it to force Tony's hand. He spent months going back and forth between his workshop and the 60th floor R+D lab, trying to cure cancer, of all things. I don't think he ever slept."

My heart aches terribly for Tony. I know firsthand the creeping, deteriorating terrors of brain cancer-- my father died from a form of it five years ago.

"I wish I could have been there to kill the bastard myself." Happy rumbles, stony faced, still leaning stiffly on his cue. "I probably shouldn't have told you any of this, you know." His eyes flick from the table to my face, expression unmoving.

"It's alright. I'm not the type to talk… to anyone…ever."

He smiles a bit at my feeble humor. "Good girl." Another brief pause as he thinks hard about something. He's shaken back to the present as I stare at the deep green felt of the pool table, and he clears his throat. "Where was I? Ah… eight ball, corner pocket." With a crisp _thok_ the cue ball rolls over to the eight ball, whispers something to it that sends it flying off to the far corner to tell its friends, waiting patiently in the underbelly of the table. "And that, ladies and gents, is how you win a pool game." Happy says, raising his arms to an imaginary crowd, quite pleased with himself. The sound of an airliner rises in the back of my mind, but I pay no mind to it, too busy smiling, rolling my eyes at Happy.

"And here I thought I had my lucky scrubs on."

"Not a chance."

"Don't make me declare a rematch." I warn, amused. The jets were growing too loud to ignore. "That airplane's flying awfully close…"

Happy just laughs, a surprised, boyish one. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it." The sound almost drowns out Happy's last words as the sound cuts off completely, punctuated by heavy metal thuds on the helipad outside, one level below.

I walk to the windows, watch the metal suit I had seen so tattered not long ago move with purpose along the edge of the platform, small mechanical limbs emerging from a track below the surface to peel the suit off of the man inside them like some elaborate, red and gold eggshell. Tony practically skips the rest of the way in, I lose sight of him as the angle of the wall envelops him.

"Well, he's looking chipper." Happy notes, a small smirk painted on his face. He looks up at me, something unsaid in his gaze, before turning away to set his cue back on the rack. "Not a word. Promise?" He glances back at me.

"Scout's honor, Happy." My hand raises open, mocking an oath. He nods, smiling warmly as the glass doors to the game room slide open obediently, Tony emerging through them with a toothy grin plastered on, limp barely noticeable.

"Good… morning? Afternoon? What time is it Jarvis?"

" Twelve fifty two p.m., sir."

"Afternoon!" He pauses for a moment, taking note of Happy and I, the used chalk on the pool table's edge, the used ash tray. "You kicked his ass, right?" He says, eyes glittering as he points at the stocky man leaning against a pinball machine. "He's unbearable when he wins." Tony winks at Happy in playful jest.

"I didn't, sorry." I confess.

"She put up a good fight though."

"Such humility! You're improving." Tony glances at him, smile infectious.

"Hah! You're one to talk." Happy's eyes roll.

"I think the words you're looking for are 'thank you, Tony.' " I barely hold back a chuckle, the warm, simple happiness radiating from Tony sweet on my tongue. Happy winks at me, smiling at the state of his friend before turning to leave.

"I'm looking forward to that rematch, Lauren." With that, Happy's wide shoulders are weaving their way out of the room. Tony wraps his arms around my waist as I watch Happy saunter to the elevator, our conversation echoing in my head. _"I don't think he ever slept."_

"Hey." He presses his waist up against mine, twists his shoulders over so that his head slides over my line of sight. My eyes flick up to his, not left with much of an option. The smell of sweat mixed with his musk fills my lungs, makes me feel alive. "There she is." He hums, left canine glinting as he smiles roguishly. There's a bruise on his cheekbone crowned by a cut that was definitely not present last night. I reach up to run my fingers lightly over it instinctively.

"Jarvis was very secretive about where you were."

Tony reaches up to take my hand from his face, squeeze it reassuringly. "Training exercise." He winks, kisses the knuckles he's captured.

"I take it that means it's really classified."

He pauses, laughter in deep brown irises. "No, I'm serious. We were actually training. Banner caught me sleeping." I have to try much too hard to keep my jaw from dropping. _That suit is stronger than I would have given it credit for…_ "What, you don't think I can take a little sucker punch?" He's drawing me in, planting parched lips on mine, holding me tighter while he moves to the corner of my jaw, lust tickling at my toes. _It's like we've been this way for years…_ I think, smiling stupidly, eyes closed. I'm soaking in the way his beard scratches against my neck, making me shiver- not as much in want as over-stimulation.

"Tony…" He's too busy with my neck to answer me. "Tony." No response. I sigh, faking annoyance simply because I know I should _be_ annoyed, but he's just so…happy. "Hey." I bark softly , turning my lips to his ear, my hands sliding up to his head in case he continues to ignore me- which is quite possible, as the lust is lapping mid thigh and the animal in me is busy observing how _goddamn_ good his sweat smelled. _I've gone off the deep end, it's official._ Fortunately, I'm successful in begging for his attention, and he pulls back to look me in the eyes again, the faintest blush crawling up his neck.

"Have you eaten? What time did you finally wake up? You were out cold when I left this morning." I don't buy into his distraction, biting my lip through my brainless smile as I pull from his magnetic grasp.

"You're… exhausting." I slip my fingers into his and pull him over to the windows opposite the helipad. "I need a crash course on _this._ " I point below at the ants on the street, still waiting to crawl all over me and devour my identity. His forehead presses against the glass as he looks down with me, although I know somehow that he knew what he'd find.

"Vultures." He spits, dismissing them. "Don't feed 'em."

"That's awfully simplistic." I protest weakly as he's pulling me away from the window, back into his arms.

"Do you want to go home?" His eyes narrow as they look into mine. "Away from here? Where? Say the word and I'll get Happy to take you. I'll fly you out of here myself." I know he means it, but the smile is gone, a twinge of confusion pinching at my chest.

"Don't look so hurt." I give him a coy smile. "But at some point I need to change out of these scrubs…and you swooped me away before I could gather any of the things I'll have to have if you're going to be kidnapping me for the rest of the week."

" _Kidnapping_?" He feigns hurt. "The Dean of MIT demands a suite of new 3D printers as terms of your release, and all of a sudden I'm _kidnapping_ you?"

"He _wouldn’t_." I exaggerate disbelief.

"Give me a Bible, I'll swear on it." His last few words are muffled as he quickly goes back to nipping at my neck. _What on Earth has gotten into this man?_

"What exactly did I agree to when you…ah…asked me to stay?" It's getting extremely hard to ignore his playful advances.

"That's for me to know and you to find out." He growls as he moves to the other side of my throat, my eyes flutter closed irresistibly.

"How did I ever manage to go seven years without anyone touching me, when Tony Stark can hardly keep his hands off of me?" I mutter, lust mixing with the warmth of happiness and caressing me like a hot spring. The absence of his lips on my neck prompts me to open my eyes again to the subtle shock hanging on his face.

" _Seven_ years...?"

I laugh softly, amused at his bewildered expression. "Yep."

"Not even a little… y'know…" He clicks his tongue, winks at me like some slapstick comedian.

"Why sir, what- _ever_ do you mean?"

"No? No dance floor booty calls or bar flings… or whatever biotech professors do for fun?"

Air rushes out of my nose in amusement. "No. I haven't been to a bar or a dance floor since my senior year in college."

"Absolute travesty."

"Think so?"

"I know it." He purrs, pressing his forehead to mine, those impossibly long eyelashes draped low over his eyes. I bite my lips, heart starting to pound.

Tony growls, the sound sending a white blue shock through me as he slides his hands slowly down my ribs, cupping my ass possessively. I'd feel absurd in charcoal scrubs, if it weren't for the undertow of need, saturating me to the marrow in my bones. _He doesn't need feedback for me to lose my mind…_ I think through a clouded head.

"Jarvis, protocol Chameleon, level 89." Without a response, the glass walls, the sheet of windows, every translucent surface that serves as an interface between this room and the outside goes opaque. The room is plunged into soft darkness, save the round blue light hovering close, moving like a ghost under black cloth. Even that becomes eclipsed as he presses against me- I'm forced to take a step back to keep my balance, thighs bumping clumsily against the smooth wood of the pool table.

His beard is scratching against my neck as his kisses trail, searing and soft, upwards from the divot where my clavicles meet to my earlobe. His nose nuzzles against the flat cartilage near the top, breath rushing out to whirl hot inside my ear, tickling me, making me shiver again, equal parts overstimulation and lust this time. "I need to make up for lost time."

My eyes close tight, lips open a bit as the heat pooling at my stomach forms a tight ball, sparks skip across his lips down my neck, dying at my chest. The lioness, the being of pure carnal violence lying dormant in me opens its glowing eyes. He's hoisting me up onto the thick rail of the pool table by my hips in a split second, craning his neck up to reach my jaw with his fiery mouth, lust swirling in lazy currents around us. I can't hold back a paper thin sigh, first part shock, last part mounting need.

"You smell incredible." He rumbles, words pushing vibrations directly into my throat. _He_ would _like the smell of his own soap._ I'd be more amused at that if the lioness wasn't beginning to claw at my skin from the inside.

"Tony…" I whisper mindlessly, half begging for him to move faster.

His rough fingers are curling under the brim of my scrub top, knuckles dragging light against the tender flesh of my ribs, making goosebumps ripple in waves over me. In the dark my mind clings to the sound of his heavy breath, the whisper of the cloth as he peels it over my head, my arms flying up to help his cause. I hear the cloth drag against the air as he sends it flying, hear it crumple against the floor, feel his nose graze my collarbone as those work rough hands wrap around my waist. Tony's breath rasps in his throat, leaving wet heat along my chest as he presses his mouth to my aching skin, setting it on fire. One hand thrusts up into the hair at the back of my head, fingers curl and tug just hard enough to make me moan. The other hand has my bra unlatched with little more than a thought. It finds its place somewhere in the same general direction as my scrub top.

I clutch at the meat between his shoulders and neck, nails dragging along the damp cotton. I can feel the shiver I produce travel under his skin, change to a wave of lust that nearly knocks me backward, makes the animal in me crouch, begging to pounce against every stitch of self control I have. His lips are over a taut nipple before I can understand the need that filters thick through me, whisper of a growl deep in his chest. "Ah!" I'm not in control of the voice echoing from my lips- it comes from a place far away, hidden in hot darkness. Another wave of lust crushes me, my hands sliding up through his damp hair as he pays rapt attention to the aching nub of flesh, mouth doing things that I don't understand, that I don't care to know the inner workings of.

He's drawing his rough hands up to my shoulders, withdrawing his hungry lips from my breast, pushing me slowly onto my back as he trails kisses down the center of my chest, belly, nipping at the brim of my scrub pants with his teeth just enough to make the elastic snap back, the sound cutting through the thick dark air. He growls louder this time like some blood crazed wolf, sends lightning crashing down into my chest like Zeus as he tugs at the elastic with deft fingers. My hips lift instinctively as he peels the last of my clothing away, I hear it pool with a deflated whisper at his feet. There's something about being completely bare in front of him that makes the crouched animal in me stalk, growling and clawing, drinking in the waves of lust as they rock my core.

I can feel his hot breath over one hip, hear the faint folding of cloth as he kneels down, palms trailing embers down my thighs. _Is he…?_ The haze of need in my mind parts just long enough for me to realize where this is leading. It's a path I am completely unfamiliar with.

"Tony-" My voice is thick as it rasps out of my lungs, a twinge of anxiety contained within it. His hands flex on my thighs gently, push my legs further apart. I feel exposed and vulnerable and the animal in me slinks back a bit, still very hungry. His lips sear the top of my hip, leave a path of fire across my unbearably tight belly across to the other hip, teasing me as his hands run down my thighs, over the meat of my calves, squeezing the tension out of them.

The unadulterated want presses in on me, swirls in sudden movement, nothing but the hum of the arc reactor and the breath surging out of our lungs breaking the silence.

"Say my name." He whispers viciously- and if I were in my right mind I'd realize how that was both completely cliché and incredibly fitting. With that his too-hot tongue is sliding in-between the tender folds of flesh _…oh Jesus…_ lapping at the wetness this agonizing buildup has produced, running delicately over my clit _…fuck…_ around and around. I'm drowning, I can't breathe- the need in me has sprouted from my belly and is wrapping around my throat, the lust vibrating around us is crushing me. I have never felt anything so good in my life. My muscles twitch, toes curl, calves flexing hard against his grip.

"Ohhhhh…" I'm moaning so loud that the shy piece of me pressed against a corner by my need hopes no one can hear. Tony hums into me with approval in response, dipping his tongue into me, running it in broad strokes up, delicious ache turning to sharp pleasure as he seals his lips around my clit. The sensation is so sudden, so powerful that a short scream echoes against the walls.

"Say it." He rumbles, demanding obedience as I turn to pure electricity under his mouth.

"Oh… GOD…" I can't think at all, legs stretching out as though if I make myself longer I'll be able to contain the raw, surging waves of pleasure building in my core. One hand leaves my calves, two fingers slide firmly into me as he laps once more, gently pulls with his lips at the throbbing mound of pure nerves.

"Close, but not quite." His beard rasps against my thigh as he nips lightly near the underside of my hip in reprimand. "My name." Another lap before he closes his incredible mouth back around me, fingers curling as they slide deep inside. I twitch again, hips canting hard against his mouth, my hands clawing at the wood of the table before wrapping into his hair again and tugging hard.

"TONY! Ohhhh my god…. Tony…" My voice cries, falls to a breathless moan. I'm so close, the need surging from him mixing with the torrent swirling around me, saturating me- I'm quivering, helpless, pure nerves and electric bliss as he hums his pleasure into me, lips vibrating with the deep noise, rocking my core like an earthquake.

Stars skitter across the hot dark as he plunges his fingers into me, harder, faster, pulling me violently towards the edge of the abyss. His tongue dances circles around me, forces cries of his name from my lungs over and over again until my legs pull back, try to find the side of the pool table to push against, and every muscle I possess contracts, lifting the small of my back off the cool felt of the table. A high moan flies off the walls worlds away and I'm convulsing endlessly against his thick fingers, heart pounding. I'm dying, my very essence becoming pure quivering ecstasy.

My fingers uncurl from soft damp hair, legs fall limp, arms spread out languidly across the table as I come back from the dead. "Ohhhh….." is the only noise I remember how to make as I catch my breath, lust draining away with the tingling of my skin. Tony's wet lips, rough beard drag against the inside of one thigh, fingers strong around my calves again, massaging them gently as though he knows how tight they are from my toes flexing. He's worshiping my skin with his mouth, pressing his face to my leg, trying to get closer to my soul than my skin would allow. "Tony…Jesus Christ." I moan, reveling in how exhausted, blissful my entire body feels. The whoosh of cloth, rising of the glowing arc reactor, and a small grunt of discomfort let me know he was standing again. _On that leg._

"J, mood lights." The canister lights above the bar across the room come up slowly, glowing soft yellow, revealing the look of pure adoration on his face that I surely didn't deserve. "I'm gonna count that as one day. I'll have you caught up in about…2500 more orgasms." I laugh weakly, realize I'm grinning at him like a love struck puppy. I lift a leaden hand to rest on his- he wraps his fingers around my wrists and pulls me up and into his arms, sweat and musk soaking into my mind.

"I'm still a noodle." I sigh into his chest as he chuckles at me.

"I've heard it's dangerous to feed my ego." His nose is in my hair, inhaling deeply. "Did I tell you that you smell amazing? And taste, too. I guess I can say that now that I know for sure." Heat flushes my cheeks even more than they already were. Still feeling the lust swirling around my ankles, I reach down to the brim of his pants, curl my fingers around it before he grabs at them, pulls them away to kiss my knuckles. "Oh, no. I can't catch up if you repay the favor, you know."

"What kind of crazy math is that?" I lift my face up to his, nip at his bottom lip playfully, feel the lust grab at my feet, reveling in the sensation.

"Nobody questions my calculations." Tony says, voice prideful and tender at once, hands sliding around my hips again. I find the strength somewhere to slide off the pool table and dress again on trembling legs. "Besides." I can feel his gaze on my ass as I bend down to gather up my scrub shirt. "I owe you after what you did this morning." I pause just after sliding into my top, trying to recall. "Hah! Don't tell me you don't remember." The sun silk tugs a bit at my core, reminding me of the way his arms fell outstretched on cool white sheets. Tony's striding over to me from behind, glowing contentment heating me up as he closes the gap. I turn around, watch his glittering brown eyes as he grins at me, grasps at a hand. "You remember, right?" His head tilts minutely as he asks, eyes narrowing to try and find the answer simply by looking at me. "I woke up this morning feeling brand new." His voice is almost a whisper. "You're the most dangerous kind of drug I've ever known."

I knew it was only temporary, somehow. It would be much too easy, to only push myself to the point of blacking out once. I knew nothing in this world was so simple.

"It's not over." I mutter, eyes narrowing. _It would be cruel to build up his hope only to dash it._

"I know, Lauren." He sighs, pushes a lock of hair behind my ear, his eyes needing to follow his movements instead of meeting mine. "But it's something. Don't be a buzzkill." I laugh under my breath. _The longer I put my research off…_

"What if I told you I wanted to start work immediately?"

"What, now? But I've got so much _fun_ planned for us and-"

"-and the more I wait the more times you have to wake up a cold ball of terror." I drive my point home with my chin tilted up, lips a hard line.  His mouth pulls taut for a moment in petulant reply, bottom lip pouts out like a small child.

"I've done that so many times, what's a few more, right?" Tony winks at me, smile painting shining bravery over a broken interior. My mouth turns down a bit and I squint at him, reminding him I can feel what he tries to hide. "Don't give me that look. Monday will be here before you know it and _then_ you can start, and not a minute sooner. I forbid it. As your new boss." I roll my eyes in response. "Jarvis, cancel Chameleon protocol." He barks strictly at the air. Sunlight pours into the room, I hear the _click_ of deadbolt locks sliding away. "If your incredible body is going to be next to mine when I introduce you to the team tonight, we've got to get you something other than scrubs." He's pulling me by interlaced fingers toward the doors. _The team? Holy shit, ALL of them???_ I'm suddenly wracked with anxiety.

"What's up?" He's stopped pulling and looks at me softly, instantly concerned. "Hey, don't be like that- there's nothing to worry about." _How did he...?_

"How… are we meeting them?"

"Honestly you probably would have met at least one of them if our training schedule hadn't kept them away from the tower. Don't act so surprised."

"You didn't answer me."

"Thursday night is poker night." We're off towards the door again, I'm holding back a stunned laugh, having expected somehow that the internationally respected team of superheroes would be much too busy for something as normal as a 'poker night'. "We're all humans too, you know. Well except Thor... And yes, now that I know what you can do, I'm working on understanding the feelings you're emitting." _…why did I not see that coming._ "Street goes both ways, professor."  _He's too brilliant for his own good._ Tony looks back and winks as we enter the elevator.


	17. Bluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poker is a terribly hard game to write, I'll have you know.

January 17th 8:18pm- Avengers Tower, Manhattan, NY.

The smooth drop of the elevator sends the butterflies currently occupying my stomach up into my throat- I swallow them stubbornly back down.

"Lauren." Tony's standing beside me, his spicy scent filling the small enclosure with welcome comfort.

"Hmm." I focus on the smell, close my eyes to meditate my emotions back into place.

"They're just people." His warm hand is on my shoulder reassuringly. _Oh there's going to be no living with him now that he knows where this is coming from._

"I know."

"You'll see." The elevator slows long before I'm ready, but I plaster quiet confidence on over the giddy anxiety as the doors slide open to a penthouse lounge. _Stop trying to be her, you're here because you're you._ I remind myself as I force heavy legs to walk with a bounce. "Girard really does need a raise... you look fantastic." That damned lust tickles my toes as my shoes click against the marble tile. I barely contain a sigh. _Incorrigible, this man._

Five figures slide into my view as the room opens up, tucked away in a corner all around a poker table, cigar smoke drawing lazy snakes in the air under a lamp hanging above them. One of them, a average statured man with a mop of curly brown hair coiled chaotically on his head, brings his arm up, taps his watch pointedly. He wears a wrinkled lavender button down shirt, the collar a bit askew, top two buttons undone as though he hates the feeling of anything around his neck. I reached out into him briefly as he caught my eye, and I felt a singularly boiling rage caged away inside him, far underneath the demure demeanor, that made me recoil as a small child does from a hot stove. _Definitely the Hulk._ Deciding quickly I'd keep the empathic sensing to a minimum, I drew in a quiet steadying breath as Tony called out to his crew.

"Hey, hey… c'mon guys, haven't you ever heard of being fashionably late? Cretins, all of you."

"Can it, Stark. We're only two games in this time." A red haired woman twirls a half used cigar between her thumb and forefinger, her beauty striking, cheekbones high and full, hazel eyes sharp and attentive despite the easy way she was draped in the high back chair. _Black Widow…_ A massive man with a strong jaw lined in sandy blonde scruff shifts in his disproportionate chair, golden hair falling straight over the muscle bound shoulders straining the sleeves of his black tee. He crushes an empty can of Guinness with the giant hand that was holding it, tosses it behind him into a trashcan with a loud rattle and a belch. _Thor_.

" _Nice_ push!" The man to Thor's left grins stupidly, clearly a few drinks in. He's sporting short, spiked hair and a square jaw, the arms hanging from a black sleeveless shirt are pure lithe muscle, posture incredibly straight despite his clearly inebriated state. _That's gotta be Hawkeye._ "Getting better at the no look thing, too." Hawkeye adds, slurring the tiniest bit. Black Widow rolls her eyes as Thor smiles genuinely at him, clapping him over-zealously on the back, nearly spilling the scotch in Hawkeye's hand, but he's much too nimble to lose a drop.

"Thank you, friend." Thor's deep over pronunciation and honest manner are already beginning to charm me.

"Alright, who had the over under on Tony for an hour late?" I'd already met Steve, in entirely different circumstances. He sips stiffly from a can of Coke, but his eyes were smiling, easy under the military mannerisms. _He's the eternal designated driver, isn't he._ I smirk on the inside. A few disdainful groans fill the room as everyone shells out twenty dollar bills to The Hulk, back still to Tony and I as we finish our trek up to the table.

"Have to think about extenuating circumstances- I told you." Hulk growls roughly, a laugh bubbling under his snarky voice. Steve turns his head to reference what the Hulk mentioned, Coke still in hand. Instantly he's on his feet, can thumping on the table hurriedly.

"Dr. Hunter! It's good to see you again." He's shaking my hand crisply, facing me with his broad shoulders in a simple gray cotton tee, loose cut blue jeans.

"Steve, please call me Lauren, you sound like a student, the way you say it."

He blushes _just_ barely, nodding in eager compliance. "Of course… Lauren." After a small pause, his hand lingering just a bit too long around mine before releasing it _…odd from a man with such regimented motion…_

Tony clears his throat. "Easy, killer. I saw her first." He growls in warning, muted, caustic jealousy biting at the back of my neck. Steve glances at him awkwardly, that blush gets a bit more pronounced before he laughs it off, hand rubbing the back of his neck. Over his shoulder I catch Black Widow's observant smirk.

"Please, sit. Are you here for the whole night?" Widow's voice has a glossy, saccharine note over normally nonplussed deadpan.

"That depends on how much money I lose, I suppose." I pair the reply with a nervous smirk. Steve's pulling another leather bound chair up to the large round table, next to the open seat between he and Hulk before I can say anything more.

"Gang, this is Doctor Lauren Hunter. She's a professor at MIT." Steve states simply as Tony walks over to the bar, limp a little more pronounced than it was earlier in the day.

"Steve, you know I hate it when you steal my thunder." Tony calls as he pours a brandy for himself, nods at me to wordlessly ask my drink order.

"What kind of beer do you have back there?" I ask after him, sitting at the table beside Steve, because if it's a choice between him and the bubbling cauldron of green rage, it's pretty obvious.

"Really, Lauren? I've got Courvoisier, Glenlivet, a bottle of 2002 Dom Pérignon, and you want _beer_?" He chides me. I glare at him stubbornly.

"Perhaps a Guinness, m'lady." Thor's deep voice is just a touch too loud, well projected, like a child trying to get his part right at a Christmas pageant. He gives me a half smile, I swear I see him flex his chest a bit. _And m'lady? Holy crap I'm at a Ren fair, aren't I?_

I stifle a laugh, turn it into a grateful smile. "No, thanks… Thor. And Tony, I'd really rather not be sloppy drunk tonight…not so quickly anyway. Blue Moon, maybe?"

"Pfft, where's the fun in that…" He mutters quietly while he digs at a refrigerator under the bar.

"Dr. Hunter, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. Bruce Banner." Hulk stands and turns to me, extends one broad hand and smiles with sincere, but tight lips. I take it unthinking, and the moment we touch I feel rage crawl up my arm like a deadly viper searching prey. Black Widow's eyes narrow a bit as I recoil from the shake much too quickly to be polite, try desperately to not appear out of breath.

"Ah… sorry…cramp." I lie weakly, wincing against the pain in my skull from reactively shoving the rage back out of me. Bruce squints a bit, stoic smile remaining. _Well. That was… ~~terrifying~~ interesting._ "I should say the same, Dr. Banner. Your contributions to quantum chromodynamics are incredibly insightful, I'm somewhat of a fan." Banner's painted smile becomes more genuine, clearly flattered that I'd found the time to read some of his research.

Hawkeye whistles, long and descending in pitch. As Tony slides into his chair beside me, plunking my beer down on the table in mock indignance, Hawkeye stares directly at me.

"Was that English? That was English, right?" He's laughing, sipping the last of his scotch, ice clinking in his glass lazily. I ignore him, turning the beer bottle up nonchalantly on my lips, swallowing a few greedy gulps as Black Widow deals the cards out as easily as breathing. "You can call me Clint, by the way. This is Natasha." His head tilts loosely towards her as she nods a bit, mouth forced into a grin, teeth white against her red brown cigar.

"Pleasure." she mumbles. _Maybe I can stop feeling like a teenage fan girl, now that I know their real names._ I hoped, taking another swig of beer.

"Cigar?" Steve offers, likely trying to decide whether or not to make a weed joke as one hand holds a box, the other arranging poker chips in front of me.

"Thanks." I pull one from the box in his hand, the reply grateful for his restraint as well as the cigar. I barely get it between my teeth before Tony's got a lighter flame held under the end, his own cigar hanging ready to be lit between his lips. My eyes catch his, smile knowingly at the possessive emotion that's swirling like ink in the general feeling of contentment radiating from his skin. He squints a bit, as though he's telling me not to flirt with Captain America too much. _Such insecurity from the arrogant Iron Man!_ I'm chuckling on the inside. Once again, the fastest way to get me to do something is to forbid me from doing it. _Plus, I think I'd like to see Steve squirm._ I consider it briefly, decide to perhaps reserve it for when I know this motley crew a bit better. I lean on the table, taking a long draw, letting the smoke curl from my mouth. "What's the game Natasha?"

"Five card draw, deuces wild. Thor's still pretty new to the concept of cards…we take it easy on him."

"So gracious." Thor stands, chair sliding with a screech against the stone as he wanders to the bar for another beer. "You need not pull punches with me." Banner snorts at Thor's phrasing.

"You sure about that Fabio?" Tony calls after him, snarky as ever. "I don't think we need to give Bruce any more encouragement. I had to fight for an hour with Jarvis's H.U.D. inverted."

Clint's emitting what I can only describe as a giggle as he pounds his fist against the table in exuberance. "Here I thought you were just concussed." He slurs.

"Thor, can you just bring the scotch bottle over here for Clint?" Natasha deadpans, sarcasm dry.

"Hey shut up, I'm Irish, I have an ancestral _duty_ to get shitfaced." He glares at her, still half grinning. She taps ashes, unfazed, into a nearby ashtray. Thor sets the scotch bottle down in front of Clint, sits loosely back down.

"You cannot fault him for that Natasha, it is honorable to respect your ancestors." Thor notes, easy laugh deep in his chest.

"See? Thank you Thor." Clint's eagerly pouring more of the dark brown liquid into his glass.

Bruce turns to Tony, nudging him with an elbow. "Was that sarcasm? I can never tell." He mutters, leaning into Tony.

"Not sure it was." He replies without missing a beat. Steve laughs easily on the other side of me at the exchange, the only other one with the presence of mind to pick up his cards.

Natasha clears her throat pointedly between draws of her cigar, staring at Clint as he gazes hazily at the table through his drink of choice. "Throw in, Shitfaced McDrinkerson."

"Oh! Right." The beloved glass smacks against the table as he picks up his cards, looks them over as though trying to decipher a particularly difficult rubix cube. After a short pause, he throws a few chips into the pot. "Fifty." Bruce makes a muffled ' _hmph_ ',perusing his own hand, quickly matching Clint's bet.

Tony masks a sly smile with his brandy, glancing at the cards in his hand. "Raising 100." His drink hand smoothly sets his glass down, throws chips in the center with a small flourish. "Put on your big pants, girls and boys." I can't help but roll my eyes a bit at his showmanship, Natasha's attentive gaze picking it up and smirking in recognition. I've got a pair of kings and three low cards, nothing to brag at, but I call Tony's bluff anyway, throwing my own chips in. Steve calls as well with a nasal sigh. Thor's angular jaw is set in rapt concentration as he calls, cracks open the can of Guinness with his free hand. Natasha's indelible poker face is something to be admired, but I cheat a bit and feel her radiating the smallest hint of pleasure as she grinds her cigar butt into a tray and calls.

"So how do you two know Dr. Hunter, exactly?" She keeps her face stony so easily. I pause, not sure I how much Tony wants me to explain, take the last of my beer in with a long slow tug.

Tony must have felt my slight discomfort because he picks up the question with minimal hesitation. "She saved my sorry ass a couple weeks back after I pushed the 42 too hard and crashed." He states simply.

"Ah, so that's why Steve flew out to Pennsylvania on urgent S&R?" Clint slurs, throwing three cards away. Natasha deals him replacements without breaking her piercing gaze on me.

"Right. Tony, you need to quit putting off that parachute deployment failsafe I keep suggesting." Steve shifts, discomfort prickling the back of my neck as I reach into him. _He knows the real reason… he must._ Tony clears his throat, still unerringly cocky as he watches Bruce discard a single card, tossing out two of his own. I set my three low cards face down, pick up the three Natasha flicks expertly in my direction.

"Too much weight." Tony dismisses Steve's idea offhandedly, takes the last of his brandy in, swallows loudly.

Steve folds, a twinge of frustration rushing past me like the hot soot of a coal train. He's standing up suddenly. "Pardon me, Lauren…" He says softly as a matter of decorum while he does, puts a lightly smiling mask on. "Anyone need refills? I actually think I'll indulge tonight." Natasha's scrutiny is on him now, I instantly feel a bit more at ease having the pressure relieved from me. _I can't decide if she's refreshingly intuitive, or just a lot of trouble packed into tight leather pants._

"Miracle of miracles." Clint raises his glass, stupid grin on his ruddy face.

"I'll take another brandy, Captain." There was something indignant, pointed in the way Tony referred to Steve by his nickname. The turn of subject precipitated by Natasha had drawn an uneasy cloud over everyone but Thor and Clint, oblivious in their own ways, for their own individual reasons. _Yeah, I'm gonna need a to get drunk a lot faster to live through this._

"If you wouldn't mind just bringing a glass with ice Steve, I think I'll pilfer some of Clint's scotch."

"Hey, there we go." Clint gives a devilishly encouraging wink, pouring yet more into his own glass. Tony shoots a glance over at me, knowing exactly what I'm thinking. "What? A girl can change her mind." I defend myself from his gaze, keep my eyes on him as I turn my head up to exhale cigar smoke in false carelessness. His hand squeezes my thigh under the table, a small gesture of reassurance, eliciting a weak smile from me. Thor is still staring, brow furrowed at his cards, before he cracks a mindless grin, hides it quickly. I barely stifle a laugh. _Too innocent for this game, it seems. Either that, or a brilliant ruse._

"Do you need that chart again, bud?" Bruce asks dryly. Thor shoots him an indignant scowl before throwing one card out in reply. Steve is handing Tony's tinkling glass back, what smells like a Coke and rum in his own hand, my empty glass in the crook of his elbow.

Steve sets his own glass down and snatches the scotch bottle from Clint before pouring me a shot's worth.

"Come on now Steve, I'm smoking a cigar and playing poker like a big girl, I can handle a full glass."

Steve's eyebrows raise a tick, his smile becoming a bit less stilted as he replies. "Suit yourself Lauren."

Thor's deep voice shakes my chest as he lets out a hearty laugh. "I like this one, Stark." _This one._ The words grate against me a bit, knowing I'm being compared to so many others. "There's a fire in your heart matched only in Asgard." He addresses me directly, blue eyes squinting sincerely. I'd be much more annoyed if he hadn't followed it up with obscure flattery. As is, however, I'm simply prompted to take a long swallow of the liquid flame in my glass, swallow it defiantly, keep my face still despite my muscles wanting to twist in disgust. _I prefer brandy._

"Your words do me too much credit, Thor." I state calmly. His eyes are flicking between the glass of scotch and my face as Natasha slides a card surreptitiously into the discard, deals herself another.

"I think not, Lady Lauren. If you can drink that armor polish without sputtering like Sleipnir, your constitution is clearly hardier than mine." _Sleipnir??_

"That's his horse…thing." Bruce explains, the silent question obvious.

"Yes, but can she lift your hammer?" Clint asks, innuendo obvious, as he raises the bet another 50. I sit back in my chair, swallowing more fire, puffing on my waning cigar.

I decide to cut him off at the pass, as Thor is still working through the entendre. "I'm not a one handed hammer kind of girl. I prefer modern weapons with a bit more… finesse." Bruce snorts into his whiskey- even Natasha cracks a smile.

"Ah, I'm a fan of finesse, myself." Clint grins, shoots me a lascivious look through unfocused eyes as Bruce folds, pinching the bridge of his nose with an exasperated grin. _Clearly not._ Steve sighs audibly in agreement with Bruce as anger flares around the beacon of empathic blue light to my right.

"Ah but sadly, the bow was invented in the stone age- it is anything but modern." I remind Clint evenly. This time it's my hand on Tony's thigh, a bit higher, more proximal than simple comfort allows for. Natasha's eyes are on me again, that smirk still tugging at her full lips.

Clint's lewd grin pulls down, crestfallen. "You haven't seen my quiver, have you." He retorts weakly.

"Does it have an omniscient British AI?" Natasha's laughing now, the first I've seen since I've been here- her eyes glint with something like respect. Clint's nose is in his glass in response. "Thought not." I mutter, tapping ashes pointedly into my ashtray before grabbing at the bottle of scotch.

Uncharacteristically silent, Tony raises another 100, but it's difficult to tell through the undercurrent of possessive, alpha male jealousy whether or not he's bluffing.

"It may be wise to quit before Stark challenges you to a duel for the lady's honor, friend." Thor chuckles, the crunch of his Guinness can punctuating his sentence. "I believe you are too far gone, and he too experienced with this mental state, for it to be a fair fight." The anger in Tony slinks away a bit, my hand reminding him that I'm not so easily dissuaded, and certainly not by a sloppy drunk marksman who strikes me as a bit sexist.

"My bad, Dr. Hunter. Just not used to this room not being a total sausage party." My blunted reactions are too slow to stop my short laugh at his brutal honesty. Natasha clears her throat, clearly annoyed that he's completely discounted her from the group. " 'cept Romanov, over here of course." He adds weakly, backtracking.

"Quite alright." I mutter, glancing once more at the three kings in my hand, before adding my call to the pot. Thor smiles briefly as he raises the bet another 50, Natasha tilting her head in intrigue as she calls and Tony and I throw in another few chips to match Thor's confidence.

"Alright what've you got?" Tony challenges the players left at the table as we show our cards. Clint flops three 6s, a jack and one 9 on the table. Tony has three queens, a seven of diamonds, an ace of spades.

"Ha." I note softly, knowing I have him beat. He grins a bit, tilting his head at the three 8s and two jacks in Natasha's hand, and Thor screws his face up in rapt concentration, comparing them all with his before he lays his cards down with a flourish.

"What is it you Midgardians say? Oh, 'read 'em and weep'. "

Bruce sits forward for a moment, peering at Thor's cards, sighs, pulling a hand down his face. "Should've looked at the chart, Thor."

Thor's eyebrows jump up, fall, furrow. "What? It is a … straight. Is it not?"

"King, ace, two, three and four are not a straight, Thor. You can't wrap around from the top rank to the bottom like that--and Natasha has a full house, which beats a straight anyway." Steve chuckles lightly, explaining. Clint's giggling with his forehead laying on the table.

"…Well…yes, maybe the chart would be helpful." Thor sighs, chin falling into a hand, defeated as Natasha gathers up the chips in smug celebration.


	18. Slip

January 17th 11:14pm- Avengers Tower, Manhattan, NY

 

I'm nursing another Blue Moon, having gotten quite sick of the hard stuff as I slowly cook in the hot tub on the sprawling balcony outside the penthouse. I'm grateful now for the fact that Tony had picked a black bikini up for me while I was shopping for a couple of decent outfits, though at first I had rolled my eyes, knowing it was a thought born not out of necessity but insatiable lust. At the moment, though, it allowed me a welcome break from the overwhelming posturing and testosterone inside- fresh cold winter air just barely cutting over tall glass banisters to the steam rolling up from the water. _God only knows how Natasha does it._ I had withdrawn myself from the poker table three games ago, and am still quite sloshed, but in the hot water, alone with my drunken thoughts, it's alright.

Somewhere in the black of the night sky and the sound of far off traffic below, I feel Tony's reactor calling to me. He had been somewhat disappointed at my choice to leave the table, but he didn't protest. _His independent nature suits me well._ I smile a bit to myself, take another sip of beer. I let contentment soak into my bones with the warmth, the white noise of bubbles soothing me as I peer through one eye at the table roughly 15 feet away through glass paneling. Last I had bothered to look, Natasha was still draped over her chair, but this time she's curiously absent. My head falls a bit crooked as I realize that Tony and the others are stealing glances in my direction- the conversation inside is clearly regarding me in some fashion, and so I choose to close my eyes and reach out, careful to avoid Banner.

I sense, just behind the glow of the reactor, tingling anxiety surrounding that possessive jealousy that Tony has no qualms about displaying…but under the surface is longing, regret, a ball icy of trepidation which is growing by the second. I push my own confusion down, needing to still my heart in order to make out the sun silk wrapped underneath all of it. _Maybe a little context…would help._ To Tony's left is muted concern, which is much like the prickly anxiety surrounding Tony except this is a bit more blunt- the difference between a porcupine and a hedgehog. A grave sense of responsibility tempers the spines, deep within it is sadness. _Yeah context from Steve is TOTALLY not helping._ A bit further right that same sense of solemn responsibility, solid grey and tepid, crawls from Thor, compassion and a twinge of loss coloring the slate grey with sunlight and damp blue respectively. In front of the reactor's position, a garbled mess of unfocused lust and restless anxiety dances erratically, interference from the bubbling rage at Bruce's position making anything hard to determine. _Oooookay. Clint's not helping at all._ Oddly however, when I concentrate just a bit away from Bruce, I feel that same stony concern and regret- as though the well contained but dangerous rage that makes up Bruce's core is a star in the distance that I need to avert my eyes from to see the other feelings clearly. _Huh. That's interesting._

Soon, rabid curiosity is moving in my direction, getting stronger with every second. I open my eyes just in time to see Natasha in a dark blue bathing suit, a large round cutout revealing one set of ribs and her toned, milky skinned stomach. She saunters up to the door, the drinks she's had completely absent in her confident swagger.

"May I join you?" She asks, almost too politely, looking down for a moment with piercing eyes into the playfully bubbling water.

"Please do." I meant it. I knew an interrogation in some form was coming- Tony had warned me that she was trained as a spy and had an almost superhuman knack for manipulation, but I felt my empathic abilities would be my ace in the hole, so to speak.

"I'm impressed, I'll admit." She slips her long legs into the water gracefully, sits at a corner with her legs reclining parallel the glass wall separating us from the male Avengers. A smile quirks at my lips as I take another swig of beer.

"Are you?" I answer coyly.

"I am. It takes a certain kind of woman to deflect drunken meatheads so easily." I chuckle, closing my eyes half in relaxation, half to shield me from her gaze. "He's not always like that… the frat bro comes out in Clint exceedingly well when he's binging on expensive scotch."

"So basically every poker night."

I hear her breath rush out in amusement over the musical bubbling. "More or less." A bit of silence rests between us, not awkward but simply existing in the sharing of peaceful relaxation. Curiosity, caution pushes at me when I look for it, metal prodding, the emotion itself behaving as though it wants to dissect my muscles…but painlessly. "I'm sure he'll be embarrassed enough when Steve reprimands him tomorrow in our debriefing."

"Not entirely necessary." I rumble lazily.

"Steve doesn't operate simply on necessity." The drink she has in one hand tinkles as she sips. "He's not the only one Clint's going to catch shit from, either." She hints strongly at Tony. "Stark seems very possessive of you." _There's the segue._

"It's…nice."

"No doubt." more silence- this time with a heavy ring of things unsaid, things waiting to be said. "It's been a long time since I've been able to speak with a level headed woman in the Tower." Natasha drones, veiled curiosity like a dagger in the sleeve of flattery.

"How long has it been?" I prod her along.

"Well, Pepper and I got along quite well." _There it is._

"She seemed to be the type who was loved by many here…I wish I had known her, somehow." It is the truth, though I know that if Pepper were alive today, I would be in the MIT labs right now, instead of pickling my liver with scotch and soaking in a hot tub in the penthouse of the Avengers Tower. _Such a strange fate…_ I muse to myself. Natasha hums in agreement.

"Always diplomatic, always composed. She grounded Tony…no easy task."

"I'd imagine not." I'm giving her little on my own, I'm going to make her work for it.

"Such a nice ass, too." The comment makes a laugh spring from me and echo off the glass, into the Manhattan sky. I feel Tony's gaze on the two of us, anxiety beginning to leech into me despite our sizable distance. Natasha, in contrast, is beginning to feel pleased under the caution, to let her guard down ever so slightly.

"That… is not surprising." I smirk, opening my eyes just enough to find Natasha, neck craned back over the ledge of the tub, staring up at the sky. "I've heard much about how he's changed from the insatiable playboy he once was, but that doesn't mean he didn't have high physical standards." I do my best not to slur.

"He still does, it seems."

A chuckle bubbles from me. "Don't tell me you're hitting on me now, too."

"Don't get a big head, Dr. Hunter."

"Call me Lauren, please. I feel so old otherwise." Her head lifts to peer back at me a moment, take another sip of her (likely vodka and cranberry) before resuming her stargazing. "Where would you rate me on a scale of 1 to Pepper, then?" My smirk grows idly.

"Different body types. I can't compare them. She was very…long. Lean. Your build is much more athletic than hers."

"Fair enough."

"Indulge me, Lauren." She says after a pause, curiosity prodding strongly at me.

"Shoot." I mutter.

"Tell me the story of how you met Tony." _A very clumsy attempt at subterfuge, if it is one. Gotta be careful of reverse psychology…_

"Are you waxing romantic on me, Natasha?" I smirk playfully.

"A girl has her weaknesses." She states simply. I listen to the bubbles for a while, take another long sip of my beer.

"So I've finally managed to get ahead of my work at MIT to feel alright about a few days of vacation, and I like to just… completely close myself off from people to decompress a bit… I'm smoking on my back porch in BFE, Pennsylvania… when I hear his boots crunching up to the door."

"Mmhmm." Natasha still hasn't moved, her eyes closed, her arms lying around the edge of the hot tub.

"And of course this cabin of mine is miles from the nearest town, absolutely no one comes to visit me- most people don't even know my cabin exists…so of course I'm not only curious but kind of afraid at first…" I take the last sip of my beer. "When I open the door, though, he's standing there, and I notice his arc reactor, and my jaw just drops completely."

"Sounds about right." She muses, voice barely audible above the water jets. "But Tony's thrusters are so loud. In such a remote area, why didn't you hear them before he showed up?" _Yeah, she's trying…_

"I thought about that later. When I asked him about it, he told me his suit shorted out after it had iced over." I tried to keep the details to a minimum, but she was very skilled at backing me into a corner. "That night was a record breaking low temperature, so I took him at his word…and I think that was what would have ultimately killed him, if he hadn't found me. Exposure."

It was easier to deal with how close he had come to death then. I was running on muscle memory, autopilot, only focused on helping him. Now, it was a different story, and my repeating it formed ice crystals of fear inside my heart at the memory.

"I'm sorry, are you alright?" I hadn't realized she'd been looking at me with those sharp, predatory hazel eyes until she spoke up.

"Hmm? Oh yeah. It's just… harder to look back on it now."

She nods slowly, sips from her bright red drink again. "Go on, if you're comfortable. You're a decent storyteller." There's that flattery hidden dagger again, cutting, dissecting, searching for something she can use. I allow myself a long pause to melt the ice under my skin, gazing at the poker table again, where the men seemed much more at ease. _Well, everyone but Tony._ I had a feeling there was some sort of serious conversation coming between the two of us in the quiet moments later on.

"He had second degree frostbite on one hand from exposure while dragging his suit with him. He told me later on that he felt as though he'd been walking for about a half hour, nothing on but the thin clothes he had under the suit, no coat, nothing." I swallowed the icy fear as it crystallized, tugged at me again. "His skin was this crazy shade of blue when I got him inside the cabin, and he was limping. You've probably noticed he still is- I think he'd torn a ligament in his ankle either when he landed or as he was walking, it was hard to tell." Natasha nods slowly, of course she's noticed. "Anyway, he had a mostly superficial gash on his torso that I stitched up, and I fixed up his ankle and got him next to my wood burning stove with a few blankets, and he stabilized pretty well."

"He's a lucky man… horribly bad and really good luck, but luck is definitely involved."

I smile faintly. "Too true."

"I hope the bad luck doesn't outweigh the good one day." All I can do is nod, face and heart stony. Her words cut to the heart of his situation- of all their situations. Mortality was just one slip away.

"How do you deal with it?" I turn my face to her, take in her hazel scrutiny.

"With what?"

"With throwing yourself into the teeth of the beast, when it's time to?"

She gives a small laugh, smile twitching at red lips. "First of all, I try not to aim for the teeth." I smirk. _Fair enough._ "We all have different ways of dealing with it. Most of us react physically- we train hard and prepare for any situation we can think of… some of us react mentally…like Stark and Banner. They spend hours throwing themselves into research, invention, learning how to adapt just fast enough to outpace the enemy." I close my eyes again, not having to wonder which category I would fit into, if the situation arose. _When the situation arises._ "…At the end of the day, though… we can't push ourselves beyond our own limits in the rush. Muscles tear, bones break…minds lose their grip." The unspoken hint is there, staring me in the face between her words. _Gracious of her to let me understand that she understands._ She didn't feel smug, however. Most of her curiosity had been sated for now, the caution is much less pronounced, but there was no sense of triumph from winning a game of conversational chess. If she knew why he had crashed- and she likely did, to some extent- she didn't find out from anything I had divulged. "Be careful with him, Lauren." Water sloshes as she begins to rise from the hot tub. "There's a lot on his shoulders, and we would all be stupid to think that without him, we'd be half the team we are now." She doesn't turn back to me as she slips into a bathrobe and pads, whisper soft, back inside.

"No pressure, right?" I whisper to the night air. Inside, the men are saying things I can't make out to Natasha, she's responding, posture demure. All but Tony- he stares, motionless, into my soul.


	19. Freak

12:30 a.m. January 18th- Avengers Tower, Manhattan, NY.

 

Tension runs high as Tony and I enter the elevator, the poker night having died after Bruce cleaned everyone out of chips and Clint passed out directly on the table. He knows I know he's tense. It's an odd dynamic, one I am not experienced in, and so I don't quite know how to address it- I choose to remain silent, bikini drying slowly, wet hair pulled into a tight spiral that snakes around one shoulder. Despite the prickling pins and needles that pervade the small enclosure, Tony reaches out from beside me and places a rough hand on the small of my still damp back. It prompts me to remember to breathe, and so my long sigh echoes thinly along metal walls as we ascend.

The doors slide open with muffled thumps and we walk wordlessly into the bedroom. As soon as the door clicks shut, I turn to him, press my half naked body to his, press a slow kiss to the scruff beginning to form on the crook of his neck. His eyes close, lips produce a long, exhausted sigh, smile tugging at them, lust warming the very bottom of my feet. We're both much too tired for shenanigans, but that doesn't mean I can't put him at ease before the silence and meta-knowledge of one another's anxiety drives both of us to inevitably stay up all night in stern conversation.

I wrap my fingers around his and pull him towards the bed- Tony follows quite willingly, complies with no resistance when I pull him down, push him back onto the pillows, and slide his pant leg up to undo the brace, fingers working nimbly now that I'd seen it at least once before.

He smirks, eyes closing as he mumbles, a bit more drunk than I was now, "when are you going to stop worrying about that?" I carefully pull his legs up onto the bed, he pushes against the mattress with the good leg to bring himself parallel to the edge.

"When you're healed." I reply simply. "Which is going to take a very long time since you insist on standing on it constantly." My hands are slipping around his uninjured calf, I'm standing at the edge of the bed, working his solid muscles loose with expert hands. He moans softly, muttering something about being 'too good'. The anxiety I'm already working to curb prickles a bit less urgently.

Encouraged by this, I walk into the master bathroom, rummage around in a cabinet. Somewhere past the salt scrubs and aftershave and extra bars of soap I find an extravagant kind of cocoa butter collecting dust, unopened. Smiling to myself, I snatch it from the dark recesses it was hiding in and walk back into the bedroom. He peers at me through one eye, face passive and neutral, but the prickling is beginning to build again even in my short absence.

"Whatcha doin'?" He rumbles over a thick tongue, and I respond by planting a quick kiss on his lips- hiding my concern. The action only elicits a small pang of sadness which drowns out the sun silk underneath. I push down my growing sense of dread, curling my fingers under the brim of his shirt and tugging gracelessly upward. He takes the hint and sits up just enough to let me peel the shirt off, abs rolling under delicious looking skin. That sadness, anxiety pushes at me harder the moment I get the shirt over his head- he's looking strangely at me through unfocused, bleary eyes. "Lauren…" _My name even sounds good when he's a little too inebriated to enunciate…_

"Hush, Tony. I know you have something to say…but can it wait, just a little while longer?" His eyes fall to my collarbones, after a short pause he smiles weakly, nods.

I push him gently back onto the pillows, listening to the hum of his reactor to center myself again. In another moment, I've peeled off his jeans, leaving him only in black boxer briefs, and the lust tickles weakly at the tops of my feet.

"Roll over." I command softly, unscrewing the tub of cocoa butter. Its soft, sweet scent fills the air as Tony obeys me, flopping onto his stomach, curling an arm around one pillow like a boy would with his favorite stuffed animal. "Jarvis?"

"Yes madam."

"Mood lights, please?" the overhead lights dim significantly.

"Would you like me to activate the fireplace, madam?"

"Yes, thank you." The awkward but polite exchange has a small laugh puffing from Tony against the sheets as I hear flames whoosh up over fresh logs, begin to consume them.

"I programmed him to be like a butler..." He mutters as I scoop a fair amount of the cocoa butter into one hand, steady myself as I crawl up onto the bed and straddle his perfect ass, drag my eyes over the cords of toned muscle on his back. "You're the only one who actually treats him that way…" His words soak into the sheets.

I try to warm up the creamy gel by spreading it out between my hands before I drag my hands up his back, forcing a small twitch, a whispered hiss through teeth from him as he feels the shock of the temperature difference. Slowly, firmly, I knead his taut muscles, working my way from his lumbar vertebrae to the knots in his neck, out to his shoulders, back down. The warm vanilla scent begins to permeate the air, and the tension both in the knotted meat of his exquisitely built back and prickling at me through his skin begin to slowly melt away.

"Mmmmmmm…." He's turning to jelly under the skilled palms sliding effortlessly over his skin. "Those surprises…" His voice is full of thick gravel, his want and my love of his muscular back mix, rise above my ankles. A smile twitches at my lips through entranced concentration.

After several minutes and some extremely tempting deep moans of pleasure that rumble through his skin, I grab more cocoa butter and slide down to place myself at the foot of the bed, between his legs. I tend to the thick muscles of his hamstrings, from the edge of that fantastic ass past his knees, work on both calf muscles, being cautious not to go into bruised territory near his sprain. Somewhere around the second pass, I get the idea to channel the sun silk and warm contentment building in me through my hands as they tend to him, working back up from his calves to his hamstrings, shifting up to return to his back. I grasp at more cocoa butter- his skin is soaking it up eagerly, and the whole room now smells undeniably of sweet vanilla with an undertone of the spice in his musk. His breathing becomes deeper as I temper my energy this time, letting it flow slowly out of my palms, allowing it to soak into him like the cocoa butter instead of forcing it into him with my whole body as I had done the night before.

He's on the edge of sleep soon but he fights it skillfully, having had too much practice. I hope he will drift off, at which point I'll pour the rest of my mental energy into him as I had done before, splitting headache and passing out be damned. Instead, just after the third portion of cocoa butter has effectively soaked into him, along with about half my energy, I feel him steeling up with resolve, my comfort eating away at his rising anxiety at an equal rate, turning it into an impasse.

"Why are you resisting?" I whisper into his ear as I press small circles into the back of his neck. He sighs in return, half in pleasure, half in reluctant resolve. "Resistance is futile." I whisper into his other ear, hiding the dread rising in me again behind a veil of humor.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but we've gotta talk." he mumbles into his pillow. _Fuck I hate that phrase…alright, he wins. We may as well get this over with…_

After finishing my ritual at his shoulders, I move off of him and sit cross legged at his side, begin to toy nervously with the helix of hair at my shoulder that had long dried, smelling of chlorine amidst the vanilla. After a long moment, he lets out another heaving sigh and rolls over, abdominal muscles rippling as he sits up. His fingers are instantly drumming on his knees, hands rub together, fly up to thread stubbornly through his mussed hair. The anxiety prickles at me more strongly, and I make the decision to put up a shield against it rather than try to change his own emotions, as it was clear that, until we moved past the impending conversation, it would just keep coming back.

"I just want to say, that this is all Steve's fault, first off. He's much too responsible for anything resembling fun." _Oh god, can you just rip the band-aid off so I can go lick the wound?_ I think, frustration building amongst the dread. I reach out and grab one rough and restless hand, focus on rubbing at the flesh of his palm. "…Lauren." My concentration on his hand breaks as I pick up my solemn head and look into his clearly distraught eyes. "I can't keep pretending that I'm not putting you in danger by keeping you here. I did that once, and it ended…terribly. People are going to find out about us, no matter how much I want to hide with you in a room…any room… until the world ends." _His lack of sarcasm is…disturbing._ I steel myself, try to refocus on his words out of sheer respect, a thought that both terrified me and filled me with slow courage scratching at the back of my mind. "…Terrible, horrible monsters of people will find out…fuck, it doesn't even stop at _people_. The Chitauri still exist…Loki's still alive. Things I haven't even imagined existing are probably all plotting the destruction of the world and at some point…" He trails off, the gaze between us too much for him to bear.

I finish his thought for him in a low mutter. "…at some point they're going to come after me." My mind rests on a moment of clarity in his words. _"…some of us react mentally…"_ Natasha's sultry deadpan echoes in my mind. He nods slowly, squinting at the crackling fire as though if he only looked hard enough, the answers would reveal themselves in the orange flame licking hungrily up white marble. _I belong here. With the green rage monster and the Norse god of thunder and the genius with the flashlight buried in his chest._

I reach up and pull at his jaw gently, until his eyes find mine again, wild and fearful.

"I am willing to make that sacrifice-"

"I'm not." His honey brown irises are hard around the silk that throbs heavily behind them. I look defiantly back into them, chin raising, lips pulling back stubbornly. "You are the best thing that's happened to me in years, Lauren. Maybe ever. I'm man enough to admit that. But I've learned the hard way that not everything is about me."

"That doesn't mean none of it is, Tony… Natasha… she-" He's quickly pushed aside his own train of dark thought and is peering attentively into me. _How can I say this…correctly?_ He waits, frozen still save for the hands he's gripping at the sheets with. "She said something to me tonight that made me understand…it's too late now. It's been too late from the moment our eyes locked together and couldn't pull apart on that night in December." His eyes narrow, long lashes distracting me momentarily. "We're tangled together now, and we can't just untangle ourselves and pretend that nothing ever happened…and even if we could…wouldn't that be the easy way out?" His eyes flick down in fleeting contemplation before returning to burn into me. "You and I both know where that road leads, Tony." _Slow, icy death._

"I'm staying here."My voice held flinty finality. His steely eyes soften for a brief moment as I continue. "You told me earlier, this street goes both ways. I know you didn't mean it this way, but that doesn't make it any less true." _I'm tired of hiding from everyone, from myself. I'm sick of running from my past, curling up like a goddamn coward._

 _'You're disgusting, Lauren. You're a fucking dog, with that mutant blood in you. I can't believe you tricked me into loving you. You...you FUCKING WHORE!'_ Memories of a vicious voice ripped through me, the ghosts of rage filled fingers digging into my throat. I grasp at the despair and old agony, claw it down even as I realize that Tony's frowning much harder.

"What did I just feel?" His voice croaks, a hand hovers over one of my eyes as he wipes an errant tear away.

 _'DIE FREAK.'_ I'm trembling uncontrollably as I try to put the dragon coated in shining black terror back in its cage. Tony's eyebrows are furrowed as he crawls closer to me and draws me in, wraps solid arms around me, anchoring me to the present as long buried memories rock violently at my core, threatening to capsize me.

"Lauren." His voice breaks through the squall and I get just enough control to keep from spiraling down into the dark. "Talk to me." His breath whispers warm against my ear. A shuddering sigh bursts from me as I get tenuous control over myself again.

"I'm sorry…I…" I close my eyes and center myself in the slow swaying of our chests. "…Sorry." I manage a shuddering whisper. Sheer confusion, heavy concern leak directly into me from behind, his reactor humming against my back.

"What the hell just happened?" His voice is far away as my head rings, my heart threatens to hammer a hole in my ribs. When no answer comes, Tony holds me tighter, pulls me onto my side, holds my head to his warm chest. Sleep creeps slowly to me in-between the low hum of the reactor, the hypnotic beating of a heart, and my still shivering breaths.


	20. The Observer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING: Implied Sexual Assault!!**  
> Oh snap, it's goin' down.
> 
> On a completely separate note: I have been listening to 'Lifespan' by Vaults, on repeat for....about 48 hours now. Still not out of my head.

 

**4:46 a.m. January 18th- Avengers Tower, Manhattan, NY.**

 

Breath rushes into my lungs as my eyes open to the wall of glass filtering faint purple light in across the silent room, fire long gone. Blood pumps fiery in my veins, the throbbing in my head now centered at the back of my skull. Tony is gone again, the indenture in the comforter from where he lay reminding me he is still very real. He had pulled the other side of the down blanket over my body, wrapping me in clouds carefully before he'd slipped off to who knows where. _I've got to stop waking up like this._ There's no sense in trying to fall back asleep now- my body is wide awake, bones cold and muscles aching with tension. The curls of hair under my face smell like pungent chlorine, tickling at my nose. _Shower. Shower is good._

The steam curls around my body, following me out of the shower and pressing against the ceiling as I swipe at the clinging beads of water with an oversized towel. I feel worlds better after being clean, but the dull ache in my skull remains as I quickly dress in the skinny jeans and grey tee I've picked out for myself. Scrubbing what moisture I can out of my hair with another towel, I pull a comb through it and walk barefoot out of the bedroom.

I had planned to head one floor below to the kitchen and brew some tea, but just before entering, I pick up the light of the arc reactor, a pinprick of blue-white. It's a long way down. _It's never been this clear so far off before._ I stop just before the elevator, look hard at the stone tile of the hallway, as though if I try hard enough, I can actually see through it. _So strange…is it that I'm getting more sensitive? Or that his reactor is getting stronger somehow?_ The elevator doors slide open, my finger shoots out without another thought at B1- Tony's workshop. The skeptic in me wonders for a split second if Jarvis will deny me access in that crisp British drone of his… but I'm answered by the weight of my body shrinking slightly as the elevator begins its decent.

I have plenty of time in the softly humming metal container to think about what I'm doing, but I push my thoughts aside and close my eyes, concentrating on the pinprick of light which rushes closer to me. No emotions filter into my senses until the elevator begins to slow, frustration fading in faintly but steadily. The whoosh of the doors folding back in front of me prompts me to open my eyes, and I walk slowly down the hall, bare feet silent on the slab of concrete that leads down a few stairs to a door perched in glass to the right. As I near the stairs, however, the sound of Tony's irritated voice freezes me. I stand stock still, trying to filter the sound of my heart from the words that push through the glass. Almost as an afterthought, I gather my own trepidation up and keep a barrier around me. I had almost forgotten how draining it is to keep the magnetic force of Tony's reactor from stealing my emotions away from me.

"What do you want me to _do_ , Steve? Build a fucking time machine? She's right- we can't just pretend none of this ever happened."

" _Why_ did you choose to take her shopping in _Manhattan_ , Tony? Have you learned nothing? You're just as reckless now as you've ever been, you've put her life in danger now-"

"She saved my _life_ , Steve!" Tony's anger flings itself against me in a cheapshot, my hand shoots out and steadies me on the cool concrete wall. "A complete stranger. She brought me up from the pit I've been wallowing in for _years_ in a _single day_. I want her to know how I feel about that, not just send her off with Happy like some meaningless arm candy. She deserves better than that-"

"What she _deserves_ is a normal life, Stark-"

" _WHO ARE YOU TO DECIDE THAT?!"_ Tony's enraged cry echoes violently in the workshop, enhances the silence that follows it. My mind reels, trying with no small effort to recover my shield from the second searing outburst of rage, the lance of cold fear that explodes over me. Peering just barely closer to the edge of the glass windows, I see Steve in uniform with his right shoulder pointed at me, jaw tight as he stares Tony down, posture unerringly resolute. Tony has a wrench in his white knuckle grip, I can see the vein standing on his rage red neck from the other side of the workshop. "You don't know a god damn thing about her, Steve." Tony forces his voice into a low hiss.

"And _you_ do? How long have you even known she's existed, Tony? Two, three weeks?"

Tony's brown eyes flash with wounded murder before they soften just slightly, focus on the silver star in the middle of Steve's uniformed chest . "Long enough to know that I love her." _Oh my god…_ My hand flies up to my mouth, I barely keep the mental shield up through the shock, sun silk suddenly thrusting up through me, whipping back the lingering anger from Tony's outburst. "What the _fuck_ do you know about love, huh?" His words lash out cruelly against Steve. Through the tears welling up in my eyes, I can see a flinch in the soldier's steely posture.

Before Steve has a chance to respond, Jarvis interrupts the thick tension, urgency in his voice. "Black Widow is attempting to reach your cell phone, Captain." Tony's eyes never release Steve from their grasp. "It is urgent." The cold British accent is a strange unfeeling contrast to the anger and frustration swirling heavy in the room.

"Patch her through." Tony barks through clenched teeth. Steve shifts uncomfortably. "Where's the fire, Red." The anger in his voice masks itself in familiar snark.

"…Where's Steve?" She responds coolly.

"Right here." Steve gives her implied permission to speak.

"I… dug up something very intriguing about our new friend." Natasha's deadpan rings thin off the concrete. Steve turns his head to the holographic display visualizing her voice waves. _Motherfucker._ My eyes narrow in concert with Tony's.

"The suspense is killing me." Tony snaps.

Natasha continues after a pointed pause. "She's from a small town in Colorado called Niwot."

"Knew that." Tony mutters underneath her voice as she continues on.

"In 2011, the year she obtained her second doctorate, there's a Niwot police report involving her and one of her former secondary school classmates, a man named Eric Wright. He just happens to be the son of one Eugene Wright-- the chairman of a hate group called Families for Purity, an organization known for its radical stance against mutants." Tony is silent, anger falling away, creeping dread surging up to take its place. _Or was that my own? Fuck…fuck I knew I was in trouble with her._ I'm frozen in place, shame welling up slimy in my throat. _Oh Tony…this wasn't how I wanted you to find out…_

Natasha doesn't need any acknowledgement to continue, voice even and factual. "At two a.m. on May 12th, the local police responded to an emergency dispatch involving a potential sexual assault and battery. They found Ms. Hunter in the drainage ditch behind the Wright's house, alive but disrobed from the waist down and unresponsive, with bruises that indicate strangulation on her neck- Eric Wright was a few feet away, seizing and screaming uncontrollably. Hunter was in a coma for five days at the local hospital. Eric Wright was admitted to Centennial Peaks Psychiatric Hospital. He has yet to recover from acute paranoia and hallucinations- and his family has no history of mental illness at all."

Tony had been pacing like a wild cougar in front of the monitor while Natasha coldly rattled off my darkest secret. Now he stands, his back to me, hands propped against a worktable to support him, his head hanging down between tensed shoulders.

"Seven years..." I can barely make out his mutter.

Steve shuffles over to a hovering display of the police report. "Natasha, did anyone press charges?"

"No. The police couldn't find any forensic reason for Wright's madness despite Eugene Wright's ensuing legal crusade against her, though they did manage to match the rape kit and fingerprints on the throat of Dr. Hunter to Eric-"

"Son of a BITCH." Tony shouts, wrench flying from his fist and clanging loudly against the opposite wall. Another wave of rage makes my eyes roll back into my head.

Silence permeates the room as I drop my guard, unable to hold it up through the throbbing in my skull. Shame slithers through every inch of me, regret tears at me from the inside. _I should have had more control…_ Hot tears sting my eyes as my head slides into my hands.

"Does that sound like a _normal life_ to you, _Steve_?" there was no response as Tony spit venom at the stoic man. "Are you happy now? Now that you know she's a mutant? What else did he tell you to do, Natasha? Did you bug her house so that if she's ever _defending_ herself from being raped and strangled by her bigoted skidmark of a _boyfriend_ , Steve can swoop in with his _fucking_ shield and save the _piece of_ _shit_?"

More taut silence, another fireball of anger erupts around me. _You need to have more control._ The part of me that hates weakness thrashes back against the cracks growing in my mind from the emotional onslaught. I've felt rage like this before. I've known crippling despair, the caustic acid of jealousy, the iron grip of terror. But there's something about the reactor, I know, that amplifies Tony's emotion to a dangerous level- and if I don't pull my mind back from the brink of losing control, the feedback between us will send certainly Tony, and possibly even Steve, into a murderous rampage. Barely able to think, I withdraw and reach for anything to remember that will counteract the salvo of bitter anger licking at my skin like a slavering wolf.

Far away, Steve turns to the holographic display and mutters gravely, "That will be all, Black Widow. Thank you."

Flashes of my childhood filtered before my mind's eye- harvest season, my mother's arms, the smell of spring rain-- none of them countered the anger breathing down my neck.

A loud crunch rings out as Tony slams a fist down on his workbench, almost pulling me from my desperate meditation. "Fucking _unacceptable_." He hisses. "Tell me what she did to you Steve- to make you so afraid of her." Tony takes an aggressive step towards the towering man, the closed distance between them forcing him to tilt his neck up. "TELL ME!" He shouts. Steve remains unmoved, bristling at the violence in Tony's eyes.

The larger man forces his voice to be even. "Because you brought her to the Tower after two days. Because you lead her into our poker night like she was a trusted member of the team, and you _barely. know. her._ She's not Pepper, Tony."

"How _DARE_ you." Tony's chest is heaving, his teeth bared as he roars at Steve, bloodlust in his eyes.

_"I love her."_ The memory of Tony's voice rings through my mind. Something clicks into place inside me- the swirling mass of rage immediately falls silent. I feel like I'm floating away, like I'm hovering above myself as I watch my body rise to its feet, walk slowly down the concrete stairs of the workshop, slide the door open as though it weighed nothing. Tony is too enraged to hear the door, but as Steve's gaze flicks up to the direction I am in, I observe shock in his eyes.

"Dr. Hunter…" He breathes out, prompting Tony to turn, nostrils still flaring, jaw clenched tight. My body has already crossed the room to where they are, and Steve takes a step backward, unsure- probably for the first time in his life. My face turns to him in a mannequin deadpan, irises and pupils gone, eyes glowing a faint blue white. As my head swivels back to Tony, the rage in his eyes dies into profound shock. Before either man gets a chance to recover, one of my hands snaps up, its palm pressed to the top of Tony's forehead. His honey brown eyes roll back in his head immediately, jaw falling slack, a strangled sound gurgling out.

"Tony!" Steve barks, certain that I'm harming Tony in some way, and he moves to intercept my body, but its other arm is instantly pressed against the center of Steve's chest, paralyzing him as Tony falls to his knees. A split second later, Steve slumps to his knees after Tony, their bodies swaying as the lower functions of their brains struggle to keep balance. I observe, devoid of emotion as I watch my body act, but the moment my hands begin to withdraw from the men, my point of view is sucked violently back into my flesh, the sensation of bliss still tingling on my fingertips- my head assuredly about to split open at any second. Through graying vision I watch Tony become aware again, a look of pure serenity turns to hazy confusion as my knees buckle. Steve catches me as I fall, calm determination in his eyes.

"Lauren…Lauren!" Tony calls to me from the other corner of the universe as the fuzz around my eyes swallows the last of my consciousness.


	21. Mending

4:34 p.m. January 20th- Avengers Tower, Manhattan, NY

 

"Her bloodwork is…interesting."

"Spit it out, Bruce, if I have to guess at any more surprises this week I'll come unhinged." A faint sigh floats to my right.

"All her levels are normal- hematocrit, white blood cell count, electrolyte level, the whole shabang. Her standard chemistry was normal too, no deficiencies…but I had to run a sample through gas chromatography to find it- she's got a good amount of vibranium in her system." I recognize the light of the arc reactor empathically as the voices fade in, as my brain begins to make sense of the words. I'm so cold, like my flesh has turned to granite… and so fatigued that I don't dare to actively use my ability. Even Tony's emotions, which the logical part of me now whirring into motion recognizes as guilt and anxiety, feel faint and far away. I choose not to move at all, eyes remaining closed until I know I'd be able to handle the inevitable strain.

"…Vibranium? How is that…possible?"

"I don't know Tony. It's not the type of molecule that natural processes can produce within acceptable biometric temperature ranges. But considering the only known source of vibranium in the world is your workshop, there's only one conclusion I can make."

"I need to find out if it's hurting her. The entire reason I ran across vibranium is to find a replacement for palladium that wouldn't poison _me…_ I know that her empathic ability is… stronger with me than anyone else- she mentioned that a few times, but it's not just proximity that causes her to… pass out like this."

"This isn't the first time?"

"No…it's the second…well third. I guess." Tony's voice becomes muffled as though his hands are at his face. "It happens immediately after some emotionally traumatic event."

"We can't rule out that the vibranium is poisoning her-"

"I know… I know. Listen- anything you need built, any kind of research that needs my company behind it, any amount of money that needs spent. I need to know."

"I'll do my best Tony." Shuffling of footsteps around me, then off to my right they begin to fade.

"Bruce." Tony calls after him.

"Yeah." Bruce responds, shoes scuffle to a stop

"Thanks." The shuffling echoes in a hallway, the faint _whump_ of elevator doors opening, then closing. Tony lets out a long sigh. "I'm sorry." his voice faces me, soft, not expecting a response. "Any minute now…you can wake up and stop scaring the shit out of me." His words pressed deep sadness wrapped in sun silk into me. _Looks like I'm going to have to be ready right now._

"I should have told you sooner." I croak out through chapped lips before I manage to open my eyes. The blur of his arc reactor rises quickly, the whisper of cloth letting me know he's moving to me before my eyes can properly focus. Tony's laughing breathily in relief as he bends over and wraps me up in his arms like I'm a small child, his hands trembling the slightest bit. I close my eyes just for a bit longer, drinking in his familiar scent as it washes over me, arms leaden as I pull them up to wrap around his ribs.

"You have _got_ to stop passing out like this. Was your mother a fainting goat or something?" He mumbles against the sheets over my shoulder. I smile as much as I can- it isn't much.

"You should try it, Tony. Best sleep I ever have." The joke isn't as funny as Tony's reaction would have hinted. After he manages to find the strength to let me go, he just stands there, a little hesitant.

"J, have Happy bring a cup of rooibos tea up to my penthouse- and inform Bruce that Lauren is awake."

"Right away, Sir."

I stare up at him as he rocks to and fro in nervous energy, a small frown at his lips. "Come down here." I beg with a whisper.

"Lauren I don't know if I should… be near you right now."

"Come on, you're not poisoning me."

His face twitches into a smirk as he realizes I'd eavesdropped on his conversation with Banner. "How much did you hear?"

"Everything after the part about bloodwork."

"So I don't need to explain, then?"

"Nope." He considers how to proceed, chewing his lip, before sitting reluctantly beside me. I peer at the clock on the glass wall, the absence of a day of my life making me anxious.

Tony's hand is on my blanketed thigh, and I'm reminded again by his searching eyes that he can tell what I'm feeling. "So… how much do you remember?"

I inhale slowly, trying to recall whether or not there were gaps in my memories of the last night I was awake. "A lot of it… I'm glad I had decided to open up about it at some point anyway." He was trying to gauge how much of the conversation in the workshop I had heard. "I know everyone knows about Eric now. I also know that you and Steve need to go to some kind of trust resort…or something." I smirk.

"I'm sorry about him. He has no finesse whatsoever."

"No, I understood. He was right, you know- about bringing me into your inner circle so quickly."

"He should have been _man_ enough to ask you himself, instead of sending Natasha out on some reconnaissance mission like you're the enemy." A faint analogue of the burning anger Tony had been emitting in the workshop flares up. I draw my lips thin, begin to chew on the bottom one. _I should have known that even the Avengers would have their own internal issues. He's right… they're only human._ Oddly, there's a small amount of comfort in that.

"Don't be so hard on him, Tony. I think his heart was in the right place."

Tony regards me with exasperated affection as he gathers up a pale hand. "Well…he definitely knows what side you're on now." The memory of my out of body experience flashes into my vision at his reference.

"I need to study that vibranium…in the short time I've been around you, things have happened that I have no experience with…I saw myself moving when I walked into the workshop, but I wasn't…inside of me…shit that's harder than I thought to explain." I stare at my blanketed toes, chewing idly on my free hand's thumbnail.

"I'd like to hear more of that experience if you don't mind, Dr. Hunter." Bruce had snuck back up on us, the rooibos in his hand. I'm slightly disappointed that Happy wasn't the one carrying it.

"Not at all… thank you, Dr. Banner." He hands the steaming mug to me carefully, sits on the side of the bed opposite Tony. As soon as his hands are free, he produces a pad and pencil, looking for all the world like a student in one of my lectures. _I'm going to miss lectures…_ The rooibos infuses much needed life force into my bones as I take a long swallow, gathering my thoughts up as I do. "Perhaps a little background is in order?"

Bruce nods, eyes fixed on his paper. "Please."

"I've essentially been familiar with my power since the day I could understand emotion. Never in my 31 years on Earth have I experienced the things I do when Tony is close to me." Tony averts his eyes, a little embarrassed by how mushy that sentence sounds. I catch Bruce smiling coyly over his own shoulder. I manage not to roll my eyes as I continue. "In example, there is a…gap between what I feel and what anyone else does. I have to use willpower to cross that gap in order to feel what most others do, or to influence their feelings. Which, conveniently, is why I'm able to sit here next to you, Bruce, and not want to reduce everything in this room to splinters." Tony smiles wryly when Banner turns to peer at me over his glasses before standing and cautiously sitting in a chair a few feet away instead. "I must commend you on your incredible self control, as a side note." Banner gives a small laugh, keeps his eyes locked on his notepad.

"It took years to perfect. Nice to know it's appreciated."

"Anyhow, with Tony, it's as though that gap is bridged and we are constantly susceptible to each other, unless I continually expend energy closing that bridge off." Banner glances at Tony, moving nothing but his eyes. Tony stares back, shifts his weight uneasily.

"Because of that constant link, a positive feedback loop of emotion can occur in which he's… oh let's say nervous… for the sake of argument." Tony's eyes flick back to me, not entirely excited about the example. "If I allow it, his nervous feeling can convince me to be nervous too, and my anxiety will feed into him, becoming quickly stronger between us until I am able to break that cycle by either closing off the bridge or introducing a dampening emotion- calm, in this case."

"Mmhm." Bruce gives a smooth grunt of acknowledgement. "Fascinating…go on, Dr. Hunter."

"Lauren."

"Lauren, apologies."

"As a result, in the short time I've known Tony, I have been pushed to my limits in attempting to counteract this effect. Fortunately it seems I'm conditioning myself, because those limits seem harder and harder to reach." Tony's eyes are full of apologies- I only smile reassuringly.

"In addition, his arc reactor manifests itself as a sort of light in my empathic sense. At first, I barely noticed it…but now I can apparently pick up its…signal… from a fair distance. The distance between this penthouse and his workshop, now. Which, is why I found myself there last night."

"Two nights ago." Tony interjects, squeezing my hand and then releasing it to rub at his face as if sloughing off the worry of the past two days.

"…Right." Banner is chewing on his mechanical pencil idly, rolling the information around in his head. "Do walls or solid objects interfere with this 'signal'?" He mutters, deep in thought.

"Not to my knowledge. His reactor is like a beacon regardless of position, it only becomes fuzzy when strong emotions nearer to me obscure it- or distance brings it out of my sensing range." Banner's expression seems perturbed as he continues to gnaw on the plastic stick in his mouth.

"The emotions that you project on your own- do you need to have a reason to feel them? I mean…hmm." Banner is clearly out of his element, but that's to be expected when even I feel the same way sometimes.

"Examples help." I suggest, understanding his struggle.

"Alright, so say that a person is grieving, and you want to help them." Tony's eyes are suddenly very busy with the view outside. "Can you project comfort even if you are grieving too? Do you feel detached from your own empathic power?" I take another slow sip of my tea as I consider the question carefully.

"It has always been sort of a struggle to…center myself, so to speak. I can conjure memories of a point in my past where I felt strongly in one way or another, and focus on them to…ah…kindle that feeling in me before projecting it even if the present moment doesn't afford me that emotion, I suppose. But…the events in the workshop have changed that experience a bit."

Bruce sits forward, his intelligent mahogany gaze piercing me in interest. "In what way?" Tony is interested as well, but he's still pretending to watch the sky outside.

"As you probably know, there was a potentially overwhelming amount of…anger… being emitted in the workshop. I didn't feel I had a choice but to dampen that emotion because it was growing despite my efforts to close the bridge between Tony and I. But the…information that was being disseminated to Tony and Steve…" I struggle to push down shame, hiding my face behind the mug I was suddenly draining tea from.

"Bruce, it might be too early for this-" Tony's turned back and is returning to my side, sadness, defensive compassion in his eyes.

"It's.. alright, Tony." He stares at me, body itching to help but having no recourse as Banner gazes quietly at me. "The information about my assault and the way it was being revealed had brought me to a dark place. At first I was afraid that I wouldn't have enough energy left to keep Tony and Steve from…going at it. But something happened." I stared straight ahead at the marble fireplace, stumbling around the words I was saying. "I was…watching myself. I could see myself in the third person as I walked into the workshop and just…quelled the anger between them. It was so strange- as though I had taken the eyes of a ghost and was completely devoid of any feeling at all…I could see my own eyes, so I know now that my brain isn't simply trying to provide an explanation for the way all emotion silenced around me. They…glowed." My brow furrowed tightly as I recalled every detail of the experience. Now that I wasn't outside of myself, I realized that it was a little terrifying.

"Glowed." Bruce rumbling voice carries disbelief- as though he's heard me incorrectly, and he peers at Tony for outside confirmation. The anxious look in Tony's eyes is all he needs. "What color?"

I point at the arc reactor embedded in a restless chest to my right. "Blue white." Banner's eyes narrow again, shocked but on the edge of understanding something vital. "That was completely novel. Even…even during my assault I was present in myself…" The anxiety wrapped in icy fear that bubbles up from me prompts Tony to sit beside me again, looking sternly into my eyes.

"Lauren. It's not needed for you to push yourself so hard." He reprimands protectively.

I let loose a weary sigh, swallow the last of my tea. "I was back in the first person before I passed out." I add weakly. "That's the last thing I remember."

Tony's eyes stares through me, face stony as Banner's pencil scratches along his paper busily. "Tony, after she fainted-- did you notice any seizures, any failure to breathe?"

Tony swallows hard. "No, nothing like that. She just…looked like she was having the best sleep of her life." Bruce hums an acknowledgement.

"I honestly feel fine, for the most part. My back hurts a little but I'm thinking that has more to do with laying on a bed for two days than anything else." I sit up slowly, curling my shoulders toward my toes before pulling my legs up and folding them together, one knee poking out of the blanket. "Heavy metal poisoning doesn't fit this profile, Bruce. If it were acute, my physiological symptoms would be more varied and pronounced, and not so strongly correlated with… trying…emotional experiences- and it can't possibly be chronic yet, simply because the timeframe of exposure has been too short." Bruce's eyes never leave his papers, but he nods gently in agreement.

"It is very clear, however, that your body is absorbing vibranium at a rate that makes no physiological sense, Lauren. You're the first recorded person in this sort of situation, just because vibranium is so new to begin with. You need to be cautious."

I chuckle a bit, suddenly very tired of being cautious. "I say, bring it on. My body is obviously hungry for the stuff, and you can't deny the correlation between it and the expansion of my empathic power." Tony crosses his arms, clearly not pleased with that statement. I squint, challenging him. "Besides, how many of _you_ have been cautious with your abilities?" He rolls his eyes at me, opening his mouth undoubtedly to spout something with just the right balance of wit and snark when a knock at the door cuts him off.

I know who it is by the way Tony bristles even before I turn my head to the doorway. "It's good to see you up, Lauren." Steve's voice is sincere, even if his posture is stiff and awkward. A bouquet of orchids, deep purple and white, wave gently to me from one hand. The other hand is busy rubbing at the back of his neck as his eyes take note of Tony, who is currently coiled tightly over me, supporting himself with a pink scarred hand on the bed near my knee. It's as though he expects Steve to pull a dagger from the bouquet and slide it between my ribs. Tony's residual anger flares up again as he does his best to burn Steve down with a honey eyed death stare. _This is not what I need right now._ I sigh internally, exasperated.

Bruce stands quickly, clearing his throat. "Tony I will need you to give a couple of tissue samples at the R&D lab on the 62nd floor, whenever you're ready." Tony nods curtly between death stares. "Excuse me." Bruce doesn't meet Steve's eyes as he slinks past him and stalks down the hall.

"I'm glad to be up Steve." I flash Tony a warning glance before politely smiling at Steve, who is now busy finding a suitable place for the orchids, far away from Tony.

"Listen, I want to apologize…to both of you." He stands up a little taller after turning away from the orchids.

"Well isn't that peachy. Mr. Wonderful finally graces us with his presence. Oh, and orchids! You shouldn't have." Tony's sarcasm is filled with acid. I turn to him, trying not to let his anger affect me.

"If I have to go psycho and have another out of body experience again, you are _not_ going to be happy with the result." I growl at him, not entirely successful. "Let him speak." Tony stares fiercely at me, considering my words for a moment, before he takes a deep breath and reluctantly withdraws from hovering. "Go on." I rest tired eyes on Steve, who is having a bit of trouble letting Tony's attitude roll off his back.

He clears his throat quietly, hands flexing a bit. "I felt justified in my actions-" Tony makes a disgusted click at the front of his mouth, jaw jutting forward in impatient offense. Steve looks evenly at him before returning his gaze to me. "-at the time. But I realize now that what I did was unnecessary and compromised the trust of both you and Tony on a basic level." He shifts from one foot to the other, breaking my gaze for a moment. I reach into him just enough to touch on the heavy sense of guilt and regret slithering around inside him. "That is more dangerous to the team than any threat I thought you might pose, and it was a lapse in my morals that I'm unwilling to repeat." Sky blue eyes narrow for a split second in resolute sincerity. "I hope that, in time, you will forgive me. Both of you." Steve's full lips draw tight as he swallows. Tony looks through a spot on the foot of the bed, worrying his lower lip with his teeth, anger fading slowly. "For what it's worth…I'm glad you two found each other." Steve manages a half smile at me.

"Thank you." I reply, voice soft. He nods crisply, turns to leave. "Steve…" The military stride stops abruptly in the doorframe as he turns to face me attentively. "I understand why you did what you did…don't let this make you hesitate to continue looking after your team." His small smile is genuine.

"Never." With that, he's gone again.


	22. Tony F***ing Stark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous sexy time to unravel my writer's block! *kicks rocks*

Tony's honeyed eyes stare through the doorframe, thoughts following the sound of elevator doors folding shut somewhere far down the hall. His lips are still thin and curled a bit down from the scowl he'd been holding while the other man had professed his regret. "Did he mean it?" His voice oozes low from my right side. _That trust resort thing… seriously._

I can't help but sigh softly. "He did." I squeeze the broad hand pressing down warmly on my blanketed knee. "At least…he felt terribly guilty." Beard framed lips draw up into a stern half smile.

"You're much more gracious than I would have been."

I slide my leg out from underneath his grip and hang my feet off the side of the bed, kicking them like a small child, trying to get a feel for how stable they might be after a couple days of disuse. "Perhaps I just have an easier time understanding where he was coming from. Empath, remember?" His breath rushes out flaring nostrils as he slides off the bed and stalks to my side, gaze moving somewhere past my knees, still far away. I reach up and slide my hand over his cheek, palm dragging against the stubble growing errantly there. "Hey." My voice is low and gentle. His eyes don't shift from the infinity behind me, an aching hurt flowing into me from his skin. "Tony… come back to me." The corners of his lips flicker up in a pathetic attempt at reassurance as his eyes lock wearily back onto mine, the bags under them somehow so much darker.

"Is there something that happened between you two that you want to…ah…" My question is terribly forward, my teeth click together as if to bite the words back. The slow shaking of his head pulls my hand with it.

"No, not him… I'm just…well trust is a hard thing for someone like me to give." His eyes shift from my face to the arc reactor, then back. "I seem to get kicked in the head a lot when I trust people." The ache still flowing through him prompts me to stand on weak legs- I push away the spinning in my head and anchor my mind by slipping both hands around his ribs, wrapping myself around his warm, solid, too real torso. It suddenly feels so strange, that I haven't just woken up in my own bed yet, that this whole whirlwind hasn't been a long and elaborate dream. _"I love her."_ The memory echoes in my ears. I close my eyes and curl my head into the curve of his neck, press my cheek against his collarbone as his own arms slide around my shoulders to hold me tightly. _How? How can he know if he's afraid to trust like he says?_ The skeptic in me is silenced by the tingling silk strands that leak between us, drowning out his ache in the tender quiet.

"Listen, boss." I murmur against his shirt after a moment, savoring the scent of laundry detergent and the intoxicating skin underneath.

"Hmm." He grunts, squeezing me between his arms fondly.

"I really think I should start working on-"

"-Nope."

I sigh into his shoulder, holding the smile beginning to sprout on my lips back even though he can't possibly see it. "But the longer I wait-"

"-Negative, soldier. Tomorrow."

I draw back, although every fiber of me wants to stay right there forever, and I fix my stubborn gaze on his. "I wouldn't keep you from your workshop, you know."

A single eyebrow raises roguishly. "But you already have. I've had an incredibly important project sitting on the back burner since you zombied yourself into that workshop and dropped an ecstasy bomb." My head falls slightly crooked in question. "No, I won't tell you what it is, either."

"Wouldn't you like to… go catch up on it then? I can set up shop in Bruce's lab and take a look at the samples I was working with before while you-"

"-Tomorrow." My breath comes out in an exasperated huff, ruffling the stray strands of hair falling over my face. Tony's got that incorrigible smirk on his face again, the one that makes me want to scowl and grin all at once. "You're sexy when you're frustrated."

I make no effort to conceal the eye roll that comment elicits. "Ridiculous man."

Tony's quickly busy nipping at my ear again, planting soft and deliberate kisses down my neck. "You know I lost two days that I have to pile on top of that seven years…" His teeth nip at the tender skin behind my ear between whispers. "It needs to be addressed." He growls. I stifle a shiver.

"I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to--ah!" He startles a gasp from me while sliding calloused fingers under my shirt, the rough dragging of his skin against my hips both jarring and delicious. "…to catch up…" I finish, gripping his head between my hands and pulling him up to suck on his bottom lip wantonly, biting it just hard enough to pull a barely audible growl from his throat. His lust nearly knocks me over, surging like a rogue wave from placid seas, but I wrestle it into control easily enough. His eyes protest to the point of pleading with me as I pull away. _I'm not the only one who's sexy when frustrated._ "I feel much too funky after those two days for shenanigans." A surprised, throaty laugh bursts past me.

" _Shenanigans?_ You wound me. I'm terribly serious." Tony's cutting gaze sparkles with a feral energy through his smile.

"As am I. Forty eight hours worth of morning breath is no way to approach Tony fucking Stark." I wink, grinning. One strong hand grasps at my hips through the gap in our bodies.

"Oh, to hell with 'Tony fucking Stark'." His voice is almost as desperate as it is dangerous.

"Hah! I'm sorry, can you repeat that into the mic for posterity?" I grasp at the hand curled around my hip, pull it up and draw his index finger into my mouth, lick at the calloused pads like some deliciously dirty popsicle. His eyes, suddenly glazed, nearly roll back into his head, jaw going a bit slack.

"I have…a reputation to…ahhh…"

My lips pull on his finger, smack wetly as I take the digit slowly back out of my mouth. "To what?" My head cocks sideways in mischievous amusement. _This is much too easy._

"To uphold…hey!" I'm already on my way to the bathroom by the time he snaps out of his temporary stupor. "You can't just walk away, I'm Tony fucking Stark!"

"To hell with him. I need a shower." I reply simply, making a considerable effort to stifle the giggle bubbling up my chest. Another rogue wave of lust chases me through the bathroom door as I empathically watch the arc reactor glow obediently along behind me.

"Considering that's Tony fucking Stark's bathroom, and he's dirty as well, you'll need to accommodate him, I'm afraid." His voice floats past me, gravelly and arousingly insidious. His rough fingers are sliding on my skin again as I strip my shirt off- goosebumps ripple viciously over my back.

"Only if he stops talking in the third person." I bite back.

"Jarvis- you know the drill." Without hesitation, the shower springs to life at his will, warm spray and white noise calling my name.

There was something subtly different about the need that swirled around my knees this time. Instead of pushing at me, pressing its will into me and turning me inexorably into a lust filled animal, it seemed to soak slowly into my bones. My eyes close slowly as the door clicks shut behind us and I strain to hear the sound of Tony's breath as it rushes over the nape of my neck, soft and rhythmic. His shirt falls unceremoniously into the corner, and as I reach back to unfasten my bra he grabs my hands wordlessly and threads his thick fingers in-between mine, takes them along for the ride as he slides his palms across my ribs. His hands come to rest splayed just under my breasts with my own fingers in tow, thumbs playing back and forth over the sides of my index fingers. I let loose a pleased sigh which is quickly drowned out by the rushing water just ahead as he presses his too warm chest against my back, ducks his head to kiss tenderly at the sensitive skin of my neck again. My mouth forms a stupid grin at the way his beard scratches lightly over the trail he blazes down my neck, over my shoulder. _This is real…_ he _is real…_

While his mouth distracts me, his hands release my captive fingers and he only pulls his chest away from me enough to untangle the hooks of my bra deftly and slide it reverently from my shoulders, fingers rough and warm as they slide down my arms, chest pressing flush and hot against my back again. My head has tilted mindlessly away from the side he's currently worshiping with slow wet kisses, opening my neck up more to aid him as the bra hits my feet in protest. The heat pooling between my legs rises gradually, mirroring the tide of lust around us, the animal inside me stretching lazily as it wakes from too long a rest. I understand inherently that he wants me to stay just like this against him, still and hypnotized by his touch, but it's becoming harder and harder not to reciprocate. I focus on the subtle difference in this emotion as distraction, feeling the warm, vibrating strands of silk permeating the current, directing it, tempering it from a wild whirlpool into a warm, immutable tide. The arc reactor pressed against my spine, humming lowly and shining into the back of my mind, slips into every thought- a symbolism rests there that I know without understanding, like some inborn instinct.

I'm pulled back into the moment by the lack of broad warmth at my back, by the way Tony tastes and nips and sucks a slow trail down my spine as he slides the brim of my jeans down. I shudder at the sensation of his fingers pressing into my hips, his heavy breath on my back, the strange but quickly familiar feeling of being completely bare in his presence. His hands leave my hips just long enough to strip his own pants, I hear the click of his brace as he steps out from the pile of fabric behind me and a spark of concern begins to nag at me, pulling at the tail of the lust-lion rolling around lazily inside me.

"Don't." A low growl soaks into my left ear. Tony's pressed flush against me again, arms wrapped low around my hips, the arc reactor against my spine and the firebrand that is his hard cock against my tailbone competing for my primary focus. "Stop worrying." The words are as pleading as they are commanding, and he punctuates them by pulling me tighter in his arms. I can't help the gasp that rushes between my teeth when he grinds against me, pushing me slowly towards the previously neglected shower, which is now forming irresistible clouds of steam that whisper against the glass door.

Tony reaches up past my body and pulls the door open , thick fingers splayed and gripping against the glass, as the other hand grips tight against my hip and urges me inside. The water beats against me as I oblige him, six streams of water from both ends assaulting me, just at the edge of too hot. I can feel my tight, weak muscles pulling loose under the relentless beating of the water and I'm compelled to stand, head down and body still, as the water soaks into my hair and runs down my skin. Constant white noise drowns out all but my sense of touch, smell and empathic power. The arc reactor behind me shifts as Tony pulls the glass closed behind us, and I'm left with three of the six streams prodding me, massaging my scalp, chest and thighs in turn, the lack of stimulation at my back pulling the sensation at my front into sharp focus. Before I can break my attention free of the soothing water, his hands are slick at my shoulders, sliding up at the nape of my neck, pulling down over my back. The aroma of sandalwood and rose floats around me, soft and thick. I can barely pick up a hint of a smell that brings a fresh ache to my chest, one of sweet anticipation and relief, feelings engrained into my very DNA. _Is that…the smell of rain?_ I smile irresistibly, a willing captive of the sensations drowning out the fatigue from my bones, washing it away as easily as the bubbles swirling around the drain.

Tony's hands are magic in physical form, kneading and pulling at the muscles of my back, sliding over my hips, working the incredible scent into my back, my shoulders, my arms. Sun silk pulls in trails past where his palms meet my skin, need pulses warm and patient into me where his touch wanders. His fingers slide down the curve of my spine, palms grip the base of my hips, float over the outside edge of my thighs. The stream of water that his back had blocked rushes over my shoulder blades as I close my eyes again and watch the arc reactor float down, hear him shift and kneel, smell the rain and roses rising up again. I reach to the tile beside me as his hands return, sliding over my ass, underneath it to my legs, kneading and soothing, sun silk pulling stronger against me with every pass of his expert touch.

I almost forget to breathe as I hear him sigh, gravelly and sweet under the rush of water. One set of fingers grip a hip as the other set slides slowly, steadily up the inside of my thigh. I shiver violently and gasp a wet breath as his fingers slide, still slick with wash through hypersensitive folds of flesh, touch more an act of gentle, reverent care than one of dark lust. Still, my knees buckle a bit, this combination of care and want much more difficult to resist than forceful lust alone, and his reactor floats quickly upward, hand on my hip steadying me, the one washing me pulling slowly away to rest on the other hip. My lip stings as I bite it half in frustration at my weakness, half in expression of intense pleasure, bringing me a bit further back into the surroundings as he presses against me again. Wordlessly he pulls me around to face him, brushes a tendril of wet, dark gold hair from where it hid my face. Tony presses a finger to the strange glass panel at chest height on the wall, piercing honey brown gaze never releasing mine, face earnest and almost solemn under the blush flaring at his cheeks, crawling down his neck. I hear a click register behind me, forgotten just as quickly as I sense it when he draws in a deep breath and dips his head to kiss me. His lips press hungrily at mine, the growling in his chest betraying the barely contained want behind his wet skin, one hand splayed against my back and the other pulling my hips in as though if he pressed us together tightly enough, we could incorporate essences. The thought infects me and my arms wrap around his ribs, fingers dig under his shoulders to help in the impossible endeavor. I feel him smile through the kiss, a genuine, easy smile with no pretenses or roguish snark and I try to engrave it into my mind desperately, knowing such a thing has to be rare and with good reason.

He pulls his mouth away, nipping at my lower lip, sucking on an earlobe before sighing into it. "Sit." He mutters, and confusion nips at my neck before I turn my head through the spray and see the small platform that has folded from the tiles behind me, lined in some sort of soft, spongy material and held by thick cabling at either corner. _Why am I surprised?_ Tony takes the opportunity to press his mouth to my craning neck, sucking at it forcefully before whispering. "Genius, remember?" His voice is a near chuckle under the coarse gravel of want. I require no more prompting and oblige him as he kneels again in turn, one hand pushing my knee away, the other pumping more wash from the bottle at the wall beside him. I'm absolutely useless with intoxicating lust as his hands go back to their former task, running up my belly, across my collarbones, spending a maddening amount of time running over my breasts, teasing my tight nipples. His expression falls into intense concentration again, entranced by my exposed body as he pulls his hands down my ribs and parts them at my hips, avoiding the one part of me that begs to be touched. My head falls back on the tile behind me, eyes dipping closed in desperate focus, savoring the way his hands ignite my very soul as they run down my legs and back up, teeth gritted and lips straining not to cry out in frustration, in overwhelming need.

"Tony…" I know he can't hear the plea as the rush of water beats it down from my lips, carries it off down the drain. Lust rocks my mind back and forth, sun silk transforming the waves into a slow swirling current. Just as I've resigned myself to suffer with need, his fingers slide upward from the inside of a thigh into the slick folds of heat again, and I jump, lips dropping open with a keen, hips canting into his touch. He's massaging the wash around me gently and my knees pull open further without thought, begging him for more than just cleaning. I drag open one eyelid just enough to see his serene half smile, watch his tongue dart out and lick his lips like a starving wolf. One of his hands wraps itself around a showerhead and pulls it from the wall and he drags the stream of hot water over my chest, leading it with a slick hand over my nipples, across my stomach down to my throbbing, sensitive cunt. I nearly scream with shocked pleasure as he pulls open the folds of skin and aims the stream over them, pools the water over me with a cupped hand, making certain the soap is washed away. I'm going slowly insane as he does, the touch eternally careful and so _good_ , but not nearly enough to push me over the edge. "Please…" I'm a slave to my own want, the word dripping from my mouth pitifully over and over like a primal chant.

The shower head cracks against the tile as he drops it without another thought, sliding his arms underneath my legs and pulling me to the edge of the seat in a rush of calculated motion. He buries his face in me as I gasp and cry out expressions of some obscure victory and his name in turn, the water twisting the sound into simple noises of intense, animalistic pleasure. He devours me, teeth nipping at the folds of desperate flesh, tongue lapping at the mound of nerves that was previously torturing me, lips sucking gently down, pulling the aches out of me and turning them to sharp shocks of lightning that pierce my core. One hand remains wrapped under a leg, clamping me to the seat despite the seizures of irrepressible pleasure that ripple down my legs and curl my toes. The other drives two warm, thick fingers into me and pulls a high, long keen from my chest. He's humming a low moan against me as he sucks, runs his tongue roughly against me and curls his fingers, lust transforming his rhythm from deliberate to slightly frenzied, dragging me higher and higher. My hands fly out against the walls, clawing at slick tile and cool glass as I lose my mind and scream breathlessly out, his lips and fingers drawing out my orgasm as stars burst behind my eyes and every muscle I have quivers ruthlessly. I fall, plunge willingly over the edge into the delicious abyss, crying his name until it's a hoarse, final whisper.

Tony's lips kiss me softly as I come back down, moving away when the touch turns from electric ecstasy to sharp pangs of over-stimulation. He sucks idly at the corner of my hip, the hand that had anchored me there now curling out from under my thigh to grab another portion of sandalwood and rose. He stands slowly, and I haven't come back from my pleasured stupor yet, but he pulls me forward to lean my head against the cords of muscle in his stomach. I sigh deeply, weak as he runs his hands over my scalp, fingers tugging at handfuls of hair. The void of need draining down my toes fills gradually with the sun silk wrapping itself around my head, sliding down my neck and into my core from the palms of his hands. I gain enough sanity to slide my hands up his hips and pull him closer to me, brace clicking against the tile as he adjusts, the rumble of a soft laugh vibrating against me from his stomach. _What did I ever do…to deserve this?_ My lips pull up in a blissful smile against his skin, feel his abs compensate for the weight shift as he grabs the shower head again and lets the water pour over my head to rinse out the suds. I lift up a bit, watch his eyes follow the shower head back to its place on the wall when he's satisfied with the job he's done.

Tony looks down on me with a gaze somewhere between serenity and admiration, the circles under his eyes receding a bit under the blush still smeared over his face. A grin tugs at my lips in return and I push him back just enough to stand, dragging my hands from his hips, up his back, to his shoulders. He sighs as I suck at the hot skin of his neck. "Your turn." I growl, nipping at his ear. His cock strains, trapped between us, at my words. I stifle a vicious laugh. "Sit." I command, mirroring his words as my fingertips grip at his solid hips. He starts to protest as I grab my own handful of soap but my free hand flies up to his lips before he can utter a sound. I draw my eyes up to give him a fiercely determined look, but the quiet panic that prickles ice against my throat softens it into utter confusion. "What was that?" My voice barely emerges over the din of splashing water. Tony looks away quickly, avoiding my eyes as he sits down, his shoulders curling more protectively over himself than he likely means.

The glass panel controls are easy enough to decipher, and I turn down the spigots until they are only softly gurgling water in an effort to hear him, to understand what just happened in the midst of what should be a very blissful, very sexy shower. His face turns up in mock placidity, a habit learned from years of hiding the torrent of hurt swirling under the surface. The panic came and went, was gone as almost as quickly as I had perceived it, but under the lulling pool of residual lust remained an undercurrent tainted with shame.

"Hey." My whisper echoes against the bubbling water streaming idly down the tiles now as I shift up between his legs. "You know that doesn't work with me." The reprimand is gentle but effective. He sighs and leans forward, pressing his forehead against my belly.

"It's not a…I shouldn't…" The words echo restlessly against the floor. I respond by smearing the soap now dripping from my hand into the back of his head, rubbing in slow circles, making an effort to pool some of my still draining bliss into my fingertips. "I can't have water over my face, alright? …It's a thing…" He half chokes, straining to keep his voice still. My hands never falter from their pattern as my mind pieces this new information together. "It's not as bad with hot water but…just…" Tony's exasperated sigh pushes away the clinging droplets on my stomach as it passes. "Just let me wash my own face, ok?" The shame swells a bit in the silence. I feel the edge of a vision creeping into my mind's eye but I shove it away before I have a chance to drown in it. _That's the last thing both of us need right now._ It didn't take a genius to understand that he'd been water boarded at some point in the past. My studies with PTSD had revealed methods of torture that no innocent heart should know- that method was far from a secret, particularly regarding the interactions between radical insurgents and the U.S. military. _Must have been Afghanistan…_ This wasn't the time or place to dwell on the feelings I'd inevitably leak into him if I thought about it too hard, as I was prone to do.

I tug at his lathered hair until I can see his face, his eyes not sure whether to look into mine or avert themselves.

"Done." I murmur, grabbing at the shower head and presenting it to him as though the request was a simple preference and not the result of some psychological terror coiling to pounce in the recesses of his mind. I flick at the glass panel until the stream of water springs to half strength, and he runs one hand over his hair in a practiced motion, pushing the water from his hairline, shedding the suds deftly as the other hand directs the stream of water. I watch, stock still, fighting the rising urge to punch everything and anything, knowing that it's a base and futile rage- knowing the time for anger passed years ago.

With a labored breath, I shield my struggle from the arc reactor's constant leech and pull up the essence of compassion from where it feeds poisonous crimson rage. With rapt concentration, I manage to bury the biting anger and focus on its better counterpart. The rough pads of Tony's fingers against my hip bring me back to the room, where his beard and dark eyelashes cling to droplets of water, his face stony and liquid brown eyes watching passively. I realize I'm not certain how long that effort took and an apologetic smile pulls at a corner of my mouth.

"Where did you go?" his voice is little more than a whisper, the constant slapping of curved water streams biting at it.

"What do you mean?" I ask, playing innocent to provide both of us an out.

His jaw tightens in response, nostrils flare as he draws in a deep breath. "You went dark, I felt you draw back from me." He sucks in his lower lip, canine peeking out as he bites it. _Fascinating._ I kneel down and frame his face in my hands, squint into his gaze, resolute.

"I just didn't want you to feel how angry I am. At anyone who ever hurt you."

He lets the words soak in, expressionless as the water falls in a sheet over his back, drips in rivulets over his shoulders. "Pretty good at ruining the mood, aren't I?" The abrasion in his voice is more regret than humor.

"You're good at a lot of things, Tony…" My smile waxes more genuine as I close the gap between us with a lingering kiss. "…that isn't really one of them." I finish, sliding my hands from his jaw to the knots of muscle at his shoulders and squeezing. His breath rushes out, eyelashes draped over honey as he looks away with a sour-sweet smirk.

One hand reaches up, captures more sandalwood and I rub my palms together, determined to make him forget the past few moments altogether. My hands slide up his knees, past his thighs and he draws a quick breath in, abandons his hunched posture to lean back on the tile coated in a steady stream of water. My hands dance across the bottom of his abs and back to his thighs, fingertips pressing into every groove of skin, my training in anatomy not abandoning me. I drink in the smell of the soap, remember the rumbling of thunder, the flick of lightning across dark blue clouds and the promise for hope it brought when I was a child- the serenity and quiet but powerful energy flows through my fingertips with little effort. I can feel the moment he accepts the emotion, sense it drain in a steady stream through his skin as my hands slide up the ripples of sinew in his stomach. The crows feet around his eyes grow soft as he breathes slowly, deeply in.

After spending some time on his lower half, I drag my hands up the small of his back, my chest pressing against his cock in subtle calculation. His lips loosen, jaw slackens the smallest amount as I pull slick fingers over his chest, flick lazy fingertips over his own dark nipples. It was an angle I'd not tried yet, but the gooseflesh that rippled up his arms, that drew the bumps of flesh taut told me all I needed to know. I strain and press against him to run my hands over the muscles of his shoulders, up to his neck and back down his chest, palms running past the sensitive peaks of skin again, thumbs grazing the edge of the reactor embedded in-between. His face shifts languidly down, hooded eyes flicking heat over my body. I carefully rinse what skin I can off in slow sheets of warm water, and his hips shift impatiently upward against me as the stream flows errantly over his cock. I can't stop my eyebrows from raising at the idea scratching in the dark parts of my mind.

Tony growls in response to my smirk, as if to encourage me. _Like I need encouragement._ I pick up a handful of wash, gathering the rising tide of lust and pushing it into my hands as I drag the soap around the head of his cock and down, working it slowly into his balls. His eyes are closed again and his skin soaks in the want hungrily, hips twitching upward against my chest in response.

"That's a dangerous-" His breath hisses as I tighten my grip, pick up a winding rhythm. "-game…you're playing." The words are thick and fall heavy from his panting lips.

"Is it?" I mutter, completely focused on the way his shaft strains against my hands when I hit the skin under his tip. I grin mindlessly as a thumb runs over the spot at random, delighting in the way he shudders and moans.

The lust I'm channeling surges up, backfeed beginning to take hold as my pace quickens. I run the tips of my fingers over the skin of his sack, nearly giggling when he thrusts upward and the goosebumps return. His hands are curled around the edge of the seat, knuckles turning white, muscles shifting under the skin of his forearms. I can feel liquid heat pooling in my core again as the pure need swirls around me, my breath quickens as a hand shoots up to flick fingertips over one hard nipple.

"Oh… _fuck_ …" He hisses as I switch my pace just enough to keep him constantly guessing. His arms, his entire chest strains at the seat, pulling him down and against me as though gravity might reverse at any moment. I can feel him drowning in the lust that's multiplied exponentially, I can barely see through it, acting on some form of muscle memory as the hand not currently stroking at him reaches for the showerhead laying at my side.

Tony cries out low and sudden though his teeth as the water beats against his sensitive head, and I answer it with a barely audible, animalistic growl, core impossibly taut and breath heavy. His hips raise toward the stream, I feel him shudder and strain, listen intently to the ragged whispers of obscenities and my name in turn, shifting the stream so it winds around. His breath chokes in his throat, good leg flexing tightly, kicking outward, toes curling as my hand swivels around his shaft and thumb drags under his head at each pull downward. He comes with a rough, shattered moan, shivering, knuckles white as his back arches against the tile and presses his arc reactor upward, eyes clamped shut and face in a twisted sort of ecstasy. Something about the way his come shoots across his chest makes the beast in me vicariously and wholly satisfied again, and I rinse his shaft and balls quickly as he comes down, knowing that in a few seconds he'll be too sensitive to bear it.

His chest heaves and falls back against the wall as his good leg falls limp, knees stretching outward to open his thighs to me as I run the water from his hips across his thighs and down, tending to the leftover soap on his calves and feet. Tony watches me languidly again as I pull the warm water over his chest, down his arms, shifting his face and opening his neck to me as I come near it. I stand uneasily, the rush of need no longer numbing the ache in my knees, and hang up the showerhead, turning off the water altogether. He's got his arms wrapped around my hips in that split second of lost focus, and he sits, unmoving, with his face pressed against my stomach, stubble running rough over the thin skin there. A deep sigh presses his back up and down again as his grip tightens, silk strands flowing lazily between us, an undeniable amount of gratitude coloring them a deep purple as they weave from core to core. _Gratitude…?_ The inner workings of his mind never cease to surprise me, but I accept it as though I have a choice, fingers carding through his dark, wet hair, brushing the matted swaths of mahogany from his forehead. His arms squeeze at my hips in return, no intention of letting go- the idea of him wanting me right here so strongly sprouts a gentle grin at the corners of my lips. A few passing moments of threading silent silk between us and he rubs his prickly cheek against me in devilish jest, making me jump and pull away.

"Mean! You're _so_ mean." I hiss through smirking lips as his face turns up, lips pressing against the offended space of skin to soothe it.

"So mean." He mirrors me idly, nipping at the same spot of skin before he stands, wincing a bit as the brace clicks against the ground. "Have you ever had a nap naked after a shower?" Tony's words are drunk with afterglow as he follows me past the glass doors.

"The height of luxury." I quip, wrapping myself in one of the towels trying to pass as a cloud.

"Mmm." He growls with minimal effort. "Carry me to bed." His command is broken by a small laugh.

"I'm gonna pass on that." I saunter over to the inviting mound of blankets and plant myself face first in it after wrapping the towel around my head.

"J, slap the do not disturb sign on the door."

"Right away sir." The ethereal voice almost sounds amused, but surely I'm projecting my own contentment onto it. The sliding of locks is drowned out by the sharp smack of Tony's hand against my bare ass, and I yelp and then giggle, genuinely surprised, into the fluffy sheets.

"You can't just refuse me like that." Tony muses as the bed dips beside me. "I'm Tony fucking Stark."


	23. Pity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angsty angsty fluffles.

6:13pm January 20th- Avengers Tower, Manhattan, NY

 

Water. I need water and some sort of food, and maybe a cigarette, but I was trying to wean myself off of that slow death. _Strange how some of the most stressful days I've ever had have kept me so distracted that I've gone without._

"Jarvis…?"

My voice is a strained whisper, I'd rather die of thirst than wake up the beautiful mass of limbs and drool and impossibly soft hair draped over me. I wince preemptively as I realize- the moment I utter the word- that I've never heard the AI speak in anything but a crisp, clear pseudo monotone. When no intrusive accent responds, I'm not sure whether to be relieved or perturbed. I bite my cracked lip and sigh as quietly as I can manage, staring at the dark orange light smeared over the ceiling as the sun falls behind the Manhattan skyline. The smallest snores float from parted lips at my still bare chest, the glass of the arc reactor nearly uncomfortably warm against the skin of my ribs. I hadn't really had a proper moment with my own thoughts lately- Tony or one/many of his various colleagues/charges/employees was always pulling focus when I was conscious, and it's awfully hard to think about the surreal and incredulous tangle my life had instantly become when I was unconscious, of course.

Despite my want of mortal necessities, a great part of me felt quietly energized, transcendent even. _Could be the vibranium I'm surely sucking out of that pulsing flashlight pressed directly to my skin…could be the two days and two more hours of deep sleep…or maybe it's the fact that I'm in ass over ears for this incredible hedge maze of a human being…_ my misty smile stretches so tight that my bottom lip begins to ooze blood from the center. I lick idly at the fresh wound, the metallic salt reinforcing how purely alive I felt here and now. My fingers take the chance of carding ever so gently through mahogany strands, the sun silk such a prevalent part of my being by now that I didn't even need to put effort into its constant weaving. Tony shifts in his sleep, his stubble drags against my breast as he repositions himself and it takes an inordinate amount of effort not to jump at the prickly sandpaper temporarily trying to peel my nipple off. _That needs to be taken care of._

It was no small blessing, I wagered, that he hadn't stirred in the throes of some constantly shape-shifting horror lurking in the cracks of his subconscious. I still hadn't worked out just how to deal with that quandary between now and the moment of breakthrough he was so confident I would reach. The best I'd come up with was to somehow magically be awake before the emotion got strong enough to overwhelm me, but I knew that was a shit plan. _A terribly shit plan, considering I've been asleep unwillingly more times than one woman should be since setting foot in this tower._ _Still, it has a chance of working if I can somehow become sensitive enough to rouse myself as it's just beginning…_ The skeptic in me rolls my eyes. _Yeah, that'll be effective._ The one method of keeping myself sane was completely out of the question at the moment- no part of me, even the logical one, would tolerate leaving his side when I knew I could help in any small way. _Maybe Banner would have a better idea. I'd love to pick his brain at some point._

Tony draws in a deep, sharp breath as I reluctantly unwrap my focus from my own thoughts. He picks up his head groggily, shoving the spit from the corner of his mouth, spotting the pool of it that had settled gradually between my breasts.

"Well… shit." He moans woefully through a sleep rough throat. I'm cracking open the newly closed wound in my lip with the wide grin that overtakes me as he grasps for the towel lying in a twisted heap beside him and clumsily smears it over the offended piece of skin, blush creeping into his cheekbones as he steals a glance at the unadulterated amusement on my face. "You're a piece of work." He does a double take and smirks, expecting anything but amusement.

" _I'm_ the piece of work? You're the one handing me adorable blackmail left and right." My voice feels strange as I test it for the first time after yet another bout of sleep. He has no witty retort for me, unmoving as his hand still grips the towel on top of my breastbone. His smirk falls away slowly but his deep honeyed eyes, lit like embers against the dying sun, never stop smiling. Glowing, smooth tendrils tug at me, the true source of them unclear, the weight of them unmistakable. I stare back at him readily, the vulnerable, unexpected domesticity of the moment between us oddly untranslatable, something secret and ironically important about the gaze shared between us.

"Adorable blackmail. You go straight from drooling to blackmail." He mutters, breaking the comfortable silence with the motion of scruffily framed lips."My point stands." He laughs, another easy smile to etch into my memory plays across his mouth. _One more record to set…moans and smiles._

"We deserve each other then, it seems." I quip, fingers tugging gently at random locks of the unruly hair perched on his head. He nods, smile cracking into a half cocked grin.

"We do." Tony's voice falls oddly soft, amber orange eyes squinting into mine against the ambient light. His head falls to the side as he shifts, pulls a thumb whisper light across my raw lip. "I'm a terrible host." He bites his own lip in some kind of subconscious self punishment. "Having my way with your body before even thinking that you might be thirsty after your stint as sleeping beauty." My tongue slides across the tender cut without breaking his gaze.

"If I recall, I insisted on the shower." I take in a deep breath before hoisting myself up to slide off the bed. "And your valiant quest to right my last seven years of celibacy is much more pressing than my moderate dehydration." He shifts upward beside me, eyes flicking towards the dressing room to plan his next set of movements.

"It's shameful how inefficient I'm being, really. We could order something in… I could install one of those giant hamster watering cans above the bed and you can spread your fantastically long legs, and we'll kill two birds with one stone." I'm immediately trying to repress both a blush and a laugh- my split focus lets both escape, much to my chagrin.

"Brilliant." I recover, voice dripping with overstated sarcasm.

"Of course it is! Duh. Genius here." Tony nearly cuts his favorite phrase off to whistle appreciatively at me while I bend over the sacks of clothes he'd purchased for me to use. I rummage around for something comfortable, not bothering to roll my eyes anymore, never mind the fact that he wouldn't see it from this angle.

"Doctor, are you trying to seduce me?" He growls, brace clicking while he scratches under a strap with his opposing foot's big toe.

"Mr. Stark, I hardly need to try." I sigh, pulling on yet another lacy pair of underwear. _I swear, there's more lingerie in here than a Victoria's secret outlet and why did I not insist on more pants?_

"Well put." Tony quips. "Seriously, are you? Because you're spending an unholy amount of time waggling that toned ass at me for someone who's trying to deflect." I huff, tossing tiny lace and silk undergarments over my shoulder in the hope I'll uncover just _one_ pair of yoga pants… _or sweatpants… hell I'd wear lederhosen at this point. Who am I, Cindy Crawford? Where are my damned scrubs even…_ "Aaand now you're showering me in panties." I turn my head to shoot a daggered look past my thighs in his general direction before resuming.

"Do you have some sort of vendetta against pants, Tony?" I hear him shuffle over to the other side of the bed.

"On you? Absolutely." He's at my side with the jeans I'd been wearing a few nights ago, as they unfold from his hands I realize they'd likely been washed at some point in my foray into extended unconsciousness.

"Oh." I snatch them from his pink scarred hand and jump into them hurriedly. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." The scritching of his fingers against stubble lies just under his voice. It's much less of a task to find a the tank top and thin, loose necked sweatshirt I'd managed to pick out for myself, and by the time I pull them on, I can hear the water of the sink running, can just barely smell the clean musk of the lather Tony uses to shave. My toes take a moment to curl into the carpet while I watch him through the doorframe. His gaze finds me in the reflection of the sprawling mirror and he smirks even as his chin pulls up to aid the glide of the razor up his neck, expression reminding me a bit of an English bulldog enjoying a chin scratch. "You should feel honored, you know." He clacks the razor against the sink, rinses it in practiced motion. "Getting an inside view on how a national treasure is made." The reflection of brown eyes glitter in response to my own gentle smirk.

"My dad used to let me watch him shave." I mutter, no thought or intent past easy conversation as I find my way to the bathroom's doorframe, lean against it. "I think sometimes he had wished I was a boy. He never had one."

" _My_ dad would have gladly donated me to your family, I'm sure." His voice has more acid than he truly intends. "I probably would have been a fantastic tax write-off." _Oh, that's a fantastically shitty twist in the hedge maze._

"That would have made us siblings, which is entirely gross." I shift a bit, trying to hide the way such an offhand admission of daddy issues prickles uncomfortably at my skin.

"Quite." his mirrored gaze breaks mine to focus on the task of carving out his signature look. "Sorry, you were saying?" The way his eyes flick back to me is slightly apologetic, and I'm reminded once again that he can feel what I do. The moment for easy conversation is suddenly long gone, however. I simply stare at the razor's smooth movements with a stony face, lost in thought, a secondhand barrier sliding up between my emotion and his before I truly realize what I'm doing.

Tony's hands drop with the razor to lean against the edge of the sink, regret tinged sigh rushing from him as his half shaven face turns downward.

"Lauren, don't... I didn't mean anything by it." _His understanding of the lack of emotion I emit is proving to be a large pain in my ass._ I'm rubbing at my neck with a cold hand awkwardly.

"Well don't just stop shaving, you'll look ridiculous." I deflect.

"Lauren." He's having none of it. _Can't bullshit a bullshitter, as they say._

"It wasn't important, Tony."

He stares unmoving at my reflection. "The way you've gone dark _is._ "

"You know very well that my knee jerk pity is not needed here." I mutter, running fingers distractedly through my tangled hair. Tony's eyes shift to peer at his own reflection for a long, still moment.

"If not for your 'knee jerk pity', I'd be a carcass." _Wow. Did he really just say…wow._ I make the conscious decision to drop my shield while I stare through him, letting him sense the full force of the shock laced with sadness I felt at his last comment. _Well… this got dark quickly._ I keep my face still, staring wordlessly back at him, knowing my empathic radiation was making a more eloquent point than any words could. Behind the act of picking up his razor to finish the other half of his task, behind the blank expression and tight lips, his heart drew back in instant regret, a habit of inward self flagellation compelling his reaction. He shaves stoically for an extended and tense moment of silence.

"So that was pity was it?" My voice turns sour, mimicking the taste in my mouth. His nostrils flare as he clacks the razor down against cold marble again, turns the hot water on with a laboriously controlled motion. "You're awfully fucking stupid, for a genius." I spit over the angry rush of water. "Even with a literal direct line to my feelings, you just can't wrap your head around how much I-" … _love you. Say it._ I fought myself fiercely- this wasn't the way I wanted to tell him, throwing the words out to make a point about how his sense of self worth was pure bullshit. Tony's frozen in the middle of toweling his freshly shaven face dry, his head still tilted down toward the sink, all but his eyes hidden by cotton, the pools of tired honey staring wide through the mirror at me. My face is still held mid syllable for a split second as my thoughts war. _It doesn't have to be perfect. Say it._ My eyes pull to his bare feet, the corners of my mouth heavy with the fleeting thought that it may never be enough. "…how much I… love you."

The sound feels so weak as it falls from my lips, but his razor clinks down onto the sink, his shaving towel is on the floor, his arc reactor is buried in the fabric of my sweatshirt, his head bent low and burrowing into my shoulder. I pull his still naked body tight against me with sleeve covered hands.

"Swear it." Tony's whispered demand makes the tendrils of long blonde hair flutter at my ear. I nod against his chest desperately.

"I swear it. I love you." _Will you believe me now?_

The threaded silk resumes its eternal work of stitching us together as we stand, motionless, in the doorway of his penthouse bathroom. I feel fragile, the way he holds me, the way I've put words to the emotion, as though if I had failed to talk about it, it would be more acceptable. As though the tendrils of sunlight we both feel, that we both know the other radiates, should remain nameless purely because love of this caliber should take months, years to cultivate- and any other expression of it must be either false or misguided. _Misguided perhaps…not false._ But then, most people haven't nursed a beautiful, broken, dying man back to health. Most people haven't serendipitously found the only cabin for miles around just as they'd resigned to freezing to death, haven't been taken in without question. _Most people aren't Iron Man and a mutant. Fuck precedent._

" _You_ were the one who broke up the fight in the workshop." I whisper against his ear, unwilling to move in any other way. "I didn't even know what this feeling was until you put it into words first, down there." His head tilts subtly to press harder against mine in recognition of my words. "I was lost, I was going to lose control, and then I suddenly understood…" The sun silk swells so full inside me that it squeezes an errant tear from my eye. "I've loved you from the moment you knocked on that cabin door, Tony." His breath rushes out, I can feel his now smooth cheek pull up against my jaw, feel the skin around his eye crinkle unabashedly as his arms wrap tighter around my body.

"Is that why you kept freaking out?" I can barely make out the broken mutter as it fights against my hair. The smile that comes so easy in the midst of tension plasters itself on my face, cracks my lip open again.

"I…yeah. I guess it was." He's turned his head the slightest bit and is kissing my neck, slowly, worshipfully, no lust factored in. "But…" I didn't quite know how to say what I wanted to suddenly. "…so help me God, if you _ever_ confuse my love for pity again, Tony…"

His lips are on mine in an instant, soaking up the droplet of blood, kissing me even through his response. "I won't. Never again." He swears to me, pulling back and grasping at my shoulders, chin dipped low as he peers into my eyes with cutting sincerity, tongue clearing my life essence from his bottom lip.

"Then get your bare ass into some clothes, or I'll go find some food on my own." He's out of the door and across the room in an instant, grin flashing over his shoulder as he goes. "And chapstick. Holy shit, chapstick."


	24. Too Small

7:03 p.m. January 20th- Avengers Tower, Manhattan, NY

 

"GOD DAMNIT." A gruff baritone bites out over the elevator doors as they open to the common floor. "Fucking _campers_ man." Hawkeye is in the middle of a heated CoD: Ghosts multiplayer match, and he's yowling at the giant flatscreen about the very reason why I hardly touched the game. Thor sits on the other end of the couch, another Guinness in a giant hand, the other hand pointing at the screen unhelpfully.

"There's the dishonorable bastard."

"Thanks, Goldilocks, but I got this- FUCK MEEEE…" Clint barely controls the urge to throw the controller across the room as his character lies dead yet again.

Thor sits back and laughs heartily. "Indeed." The giggle that bubbles out of my cracked lips announces my presence before I have a chance to do it properly, and Thor's standing both to greet me and toss his empty can away, sans belch. "Lady Lauren! It is wonderful to see you well."

Clint's eyes dart over to me in-between bouts of virtual gunfire, he tosses a greeting by way of reverse nod in my direction, barely sacrificing focus on the game.

"Appreciate your concern, Thor." I smile graciously.

"Why does your lip bleed?" He notes quickly as he pulls another can from the industrial sized fridge.

"My skin's just a bit dry. Actually that's why I'm here."

"Guinness? Ah, but that would make the problem more pronounced, wouldn't it."

"Right." I rummage around a bit for a glass, pour myself filtered water from the fridge door, gulp it down like it's the last I'll ever see.

"Midgardians have the strangest trouble with ale." The comment piques my curiosity. "Excepting Steven of course." Thor's smile is pensive as he cracks the can open with a finger and gulps heartily.

"Where is Capsicle, anyway?" Tony asks offhandedly over my shoulder.

"Anthony! I did not notice you enter. Your lady's beauty must have blinded me." Thor winks at me over his beer can with a sly smile.

"I think it's because he didn't start rambling as soon as he got out the elevator doors." Clint adds, snark dripping on his voice.

"One of these days, Birdbrain, your precious controller's going to be completely reprogrammed." Tony shoots back as easily as breathing. "The X button will turn off the console, the right bumper will be the up directional button…" I grin at the banter, Thor's deep laugh shakes my chest.

"I know where you keep your arc welder, Stark- and you'll never see it again if you fuck with my- WHAT the FUCK, where did that asswipe _come from_??!!"

"Ironic how you're infinitely better at sniping in real life." I interject, having slowly shuffled up behind the couch with my second glass of water. "There's a good nest in the southeast corner if you jump over the railing on the building just north and can get across the ledge." I add. Clint's following my directions willingly. _Well. Here's a good opening for bonding._

"Heyyy…good eye. You play?"

"Every once in a blue moon. Keeps me sane sometimes."

"Nice…what's your Kill/Death?"

"Oh shit, it's been so long. I don't know… like 2.2. I don't really pay attention to that though, I'm much more interested in capping in domination than bumping my stats."

Clint lines up an enemy across the map and the game mimics the crack of a rifle as the virtual body drops limp. " _Yeah_! Suck on my big brass bawls, you giant tutu wearing pansy." I hear some teenager in Clint's headset just enough to make out the words 'mother' and 'fat ass'. _Oh yeah and the company's charming too. Forgot about that lovely part of CoD._

"Clinton was teaching Steven the coveted art of 'being leet', but he resigned an hour past and went to the gymnasium. He cited the excessive amount of screaming, couthless children as a reason to clear his head, but I'd deem there something more on his mind than the 'devolution of the youth of America', as he put it." Thor rumbles thoughtfully, eyes still entranced by the television. I snort reactively. _Good old Captain America- I would expect no less from a nonagenarian in a mid twenties body._

"He's such a crotchety old coot sometimes." Clint mirrors my thought, flinches as a flash bang grenade makes the screen go white. " _Shit._ " I turn back to the other two, giggling again under the sound of frantic gunfire, the mashing of buttons.

"Natasha joined him, I believe she had invited him to spar as they left." Thor adds.

"Fantastic." Tony drawls, just a bit too much acid in the syllables as he washes an apple, begins to gnaw on it.

"What troubles you, Anthony?" _I like him. Straightforward, no bullshit._ I muse- Tony, however doesn't seem to enjoy the question. "A dire mood has fallen on many of the team as of late, it seems." Thor's eyes flick over to me, my lips drawn up into a sympathetic half smile.

"Relax, Tin Man. They're not planning anything." Clint reassures Tony in his abrasive way as he navigates back to the title screen of CoD.

"Oh, so you knew about it too, then." Tony growls even as his teeth crunch together, mangling another bite of apple.

"Of course I did- Natasha told me before she left for Colorado. But for the record…" Clint brings his hands up and open, a gesture of placation. "…I told her I thought it was a stupid idea."

Thor is thoroughly confused, unsurprisingly. "Did Jane fail to alert me to a mission while I was away in Asgard?" He mutters, taking another swig of his beverage of choice.

"No, Rapunzel… wait do you not know _why_ she's been in a coma for two days in Stark's penthouse?" Clint is incredulous.

Thor tilts his head a bit as he replies, "I was told the lady had taxed her natural powers to their limit. Is that not true? Bruce is not one to lie…" I smile awkwardly, a bit embarrassed, choosing to stay out of this conversation, despite the fact that I was its subject.

"She did that while trying to stop me from repulsoring the Golden Boy into a patriotic puddle after I found out he had sent Widow to spy on her instead of just fucking _asking_ about her life's history." Tony spits, a piece of apple flying errantly from his lips. I'd have laughed at his grace if the cloud of rage hadn't begun to rumble at his chest again.

"Tony… relax. What's done is done now." I mutter, sighing as I push the unbidden emotion away. His honey eyes flick fire over me before he realizes he's forcing me to work. They turn a bit apologetic while he crunches at the unbitten end of his snack.

"That seems…out of character for Steven." Thor muses idly. "He required no subterfuge to accept Jane into our fold of warriors…"

"Well Jane can't turn her eyes freaky blue and make your body go noodly." Clint bites.

The anger rises in Tony again before I interject. "You're just jealous I didn't show _you_ the land of rainbows and eternal bliss."

"I'm good, actually. I don't do well with magical bullshit getting into my brain." Clint's words are harsh, but he holds no animosity towards me. He's curious, wary, but not angry.

"Ah, yes…I must wonder if Steven's prior experience with my errant brother did not influence such a brash course of action." I'm missing something in the conversation at this point, but I wager that being left behind in conversation with the Avengers is a common occurrence.

Tony huffs, hopping onto a barstool at the kitchen island and propping his gimped leg on another. "Loki is a _demigod_ , Thor. Lauren is…"

"I am a mutant, and I wouldn't blame the Captain if the two things get confused in his mind from time to time." I chide him, trying to defend the man who isn't here to defend himself at the moment. Tony's glance cuts to me.

"The two shouldn't be _remotely_ confused. The Big Guy can throw a demigod around like an oversized towel and the demigod can come out alive. What you can do is unique, and yes… possibly dangerous…but you are vulnerable and I _cannot_ sit by and let that self righteous asshole-"

"He said himself it was a mistake, Tony. It's not going to happen again." Tony's nostrils flare, but he concedes.

"Jarvis, get me some coffee." He growls, rubbing at his face wearily. The coffee machine springs to life in a rush of whirring and grinding.

Thor maintains his stoic demeanor, but I chance to reach into him and discover an amalgam of conflict- disappointment, pride, a touch of guilt, a sparkle of amusement. "We could all use sustenance. Will you be joining us for dinner, Lady Lauren?" I smile demurely, feeling suddenly very out of place.

"I don't know, Thor… perhaps it's best if-"

"Of course she is." Tony snaps with finality.

"Of _course_ I am." I sigh, chin falling onto a palm propped up by the counter.

"Wow, you two really have that whole give-and-take crap down, don't you?" Clint's laughing under his breath as he sidles up to the kitchen island, stretches his sleeveless arms. "Impressive. You're the first woman outside of Natasha to hold her own in conversation with this ass since-…" Clint practically throws his head onto a chopping block before stopping in his tracks at the daggers Tony flicks in his gaze. "…well…in years." He finishes, gruff tone dropping softer. _Pepper. She haunts this whole tower, doesn't she?_ I stare at a point far across the room, not really seeing, slipping into thought. Frustration filters into me from Tony- I deflect it easily, for once. _It's because of her that Tony feels the need to defend me so fiercely, it has to be. I wish I could convince him I can take care of myself…but then, if I could, would I be slipping unconscious every other day?_

My peripheral vision picks up the elevator doors as they crack open on the far side of the sprawling room. I see Banner's curly mop before I think to pay attention over the rambling of my own deep train of thought- his eyes are fixed at point somewhere along the tile in front of the door as it unfolds, mouth raised in mid laugh.

"Fury almost had a conniption fit right there on the senate floor!" The punchline of some private conversation floats toward the kitchen area as the door reveals, on either side of Banner, the remaining members of the Avengers. Natasha's got an unnaturally humored expression, hazel eyes glinting, locked on the shy smile of Bruce- Steve kicks up from leaning against the wall with his broad shoulders, clad in another too tight cotton tee and jeans, his hair a darker shade, still damp from whatever he'd been doing last. Natasha's deep red hair is drawn back into a tight ponytail- it's wet as well, but I wager they both have showered rather than choosing to come to the common area straight away, considering the tight black leather pants she's wearing would have been incredibly uncomfortable after breaking a hard sweat. _Honestly, I don't know how she pulls those things off in the first place._

I feel the second Tony notices the three of them, a sensation of wary volatility wafting past me, rough and hot. Steve's eyes scan the room, rest on both Tony and I for a split second longer than the others, his face dropping from the easy grin into something more solemn. _Yeah… this is gonna be stupidly awkward, isn't it?_ Natasha's expression has drawn back into its unreadable self before I have the chance to notice the transition. Bruce's eyes have to scan her, then search the room before he understands, begrudgingly, what has his most recent companions clamming up. I can't help but sigh under my breath, wondering what sort of cutting remark Tony's undoubtedly formulating at this very moment.

"Friends! We have missed your presence. How was the bout of training?" Since the infamous poker night, I had thought Thor simply to be particularly oblivious to the general feelings of his comrades- I had misjudged. Knowing he had paid active attention to the conversation before the entrance of the remaining members, his greeting was decidedly diplomatic in nature.

"She almost had me, Thor."

"Hah!" Natasha clicks her tongue, glares in a subtle semblance of playful indignance. "I thought Captain America stood for truth?"

Steve blushes faintly. "Alright, alright. One take down."

"That's right."

Clint lets a sharp laugh fly beside me, his quick glance at Steve as sly as it is brief. "Any bets on whether he let you have it?" His sneer is playful, reactions razor sharp as he catches a cork coaster whipped at his head from Natasha's agile fingers. "Gonna have to try harder than that."

Thor's chuckling broadly behind me. "You have a death wish, Clinton."

Tony broods across the island from me, flicking through the screen of his StarkPhone like a sullen child as Bruce pulls up a seat next to him.

"I see you've recovered quickly, Dr. Hunter." Bruce's formal tone grates at me slightly, but I choose to let the name slide.

"Yes, thank you. I appreciate your large part in that, no doubt."

His smile is polite, warm, without pretense. "The fun never ends here. I've had quite a long time to practice on subjects of unique physiology, as you might imagine."

"That, honestly, seems incredibly exciting." I shift away from the counter, pull a mug from the shelf beside the coffee maker, pour a cup. "I don't suppose you would have some slides to spare of Steve's cells?" Steve coughs slightly, restraining a spit take with a mouth full of blue Gatorade.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. will probably take issue with that." Bruce explains evenly.

"You know, top secret government guarded super serum and all that bullshit." Clint adds his two cents in as I set the cup in front of Tony's guarded frame.

"Hmph. Well that's a shame- his famed healing factor would help me immensely in my research." I mutter, half to myself. Tony's hand moves from tapping at his phone to wrap around my waist as I come into range. The gesture appears on its surface to be easy affection, but the way his anxiety crackles around me betrays the protective intent. I bend to his ear smoothly, feeling Natasha's gaze on me even in this simple movement.

"Relax, Tony." My lips plant a soft kiss on his earlobe as a hurried reassurance. As I pull back, his honey brown eyes are on me, one corner of his lips curved up in reluctant compliance.

His fingers on my hip squeeze tight as Natasha saunters up silently. "Widow." Tony nods at her in stiff greeting, his eyes sharp as he forces himself to be passingly cordial.

"Stark." She returns the sentiment- the tension curls around my calves, I bite my lip in exasperation. "I don't suppose you'd let me borrow Lauren?"

"I'm not her keeper." The flare in his nostrils betrays his flippant response. Natasha's thin but forceful fingers slip around my elbow as she leads me from the group, towards the sprawling wall of glass, onto the balcony.

"I need to clear something up with you, Dr. Hunter." Her voice is low and smooth as we cross the threshold of the room. I feel as though I should be more incensed at her than I currently am. _In fact, come to think of it, I've been relatively placid since walking into the common room._ I file the oddity away for later, gather up my attention, rest my gaze on her ruby lips.

"Go for it." My voice is even without much effort. Her hands find the railing of the balcony as she faces out towards the purpled Manhattan sky.

"I work reconnaissance. You know this by now. It has been vital to my survival that I follow orders without question for my entire life- and I make no distinction between Steve's and my superiors at S.H.I.E.L.D." Her fingers grip at the railing- a nervous energy crawls just under her skin, but there is no more wariness, and no guilt- she's simply explaining, cold and factual, as she was in the phone call two nights ago.

"I didn't bring you out here to make excuses for myself. I just want you to know that what I did had no malicious intent." Her gaze burns a hole in the skyline, posture gracefully prepared.

"I would have preferred… for you to have left the incident with Eric out of your report…" I note, voice even.

Natasha nods her head curtly. "I understand…but it isn't my job to speculate- only to report my findings."

I claim a piece of railing beside Natasha calmly- her words cut, but I don't want to lash out as I normally would. "What do you think of me now, knowing what you do?" My voice almost feels as though I am not the one projecting it as it falls into a gust of wind.

"We don't know nearly enough about your power. I don't even think _you_ do. That's what scares me. Bruce is the closest of all of us to being a mutant- but we know what he does and why- enough to anticipate, to prepare. You? … You're just one big question mark after another." She turns her head to pierce me with hazel in the dimming purple. "It's clear you aren't here to cause trouble- your effect on Stark has been…immediately and intensely positive, if distracting…but only knowing that isn't enough." I find myself nodding, to my own amazement. _She's incredibly insightful, if lacking a bit in compassion._

"Perhaps between Bruce, Tony and I, we can nail down those question marks and find out…if I might be an asset. At the very least in the capacity of psychological recovery." A tiny smile twitches at the edge of her placid lips.

"You think too small, Dr. Hunter." She leaves me to cling to the balcony railing, head askew in contemplation.


	25. Uru

The raw, vulnerable nerve that is Tony slips past the glass door to the balcony, the soft glow of his reactor hovering in some unspoken restraint just out of reach of my peripheral. I hadn't registered the dying breath of the sun behind shadowed skyscrapers, and I found it hard to pull myself back into the present, still mulling over echoes of Natasha's silky voice. _What does that even mean? Too small?_ She had said her parting words with the sort of encouraging disappointment I give students when the answer they seek is just a little further out of reach than their effort to find it allows. My fingers grip the cool metal of the railing as a physical manifestation of my will to understand such cryptic words before my attention is called elsewhere.

Tony's reactor floats up behind me, bringing a prickling sort of caution with it, undertones of a faint hurt tinting everything a cold midnight blue. His musk reaches through me while he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me gently from the railing, pressing into me as though I'm his favorite teddy bear, his security blanket.

"Dinner's here…" He pulls one hand back to brush the hair from the inking on the back of my neck, places warm lips on the mark of eternal query stitched into my flesh. Tony stands with me that way for a long moment, waiting for me to respond. The only answer he gets is the straightening of my back, and I drop my hands from the rail to lean into his warmth and take a cleansing breath. "Have you noticed something… odd… since coming down here from our penthouse?" He mutters into my ear, beard pulling against the tender skin at the curve of my neck. _Our penthouse. Our._ I wasn't sure whether to be wary or ecstatic at that phrase, but I filed it away to hash out later.

"How goddamn awkward it is?" I reply with tired humor.

The air in Tony's nostrils rushes out, whistles across my ear as I close my eyes and listen to the ambient rush of traffic below, twisted and distorted by air and distance until it is a faint, static filled drone, punctuated by the occasional beep of a maligned driver. I can feel the dark wires of hair pull backwards as he smiles, just barely. "Well, that's…yes, that's definitely a thing, but it's not what I mean. Are you…closing off from me? It doesn't really feel like you are, but…there's something…"

"Something in the way?" I finish, turning his observation over in my head. "I'm not putting any barrier up between us, but you're right. Something is off." We've begun rocking from side to side, gently swaying at the silent behest of Tony's body, as though he can't bear to hold still for a moment.

"Feeling alright?" His words are mushed against my skin.

"Yeah, weird social situations aside, my powers feel fine. No weakness, that I can feel anyhow." I sense his ribs contract as relief, soft and damp grey-green, soaks into me from behind.

"Then come back inside. The crab puffs are calling your name." He purrs, pulling slowly backwards with me before his arms slide away. A pang of voracious hunger rips through me, completely obliterating Natasha's last sentence.

"Oh Christ on a cracker, _please_ tell me there's egg drop soup in there too." I'm almost trembling with excitement at the prospect of eating as I follow Tony back through the tall glass door. The rich smell of takeout Chinese assaults me, and before he has a chance to reply, I've closed the gap between me and the nearest styrofoam cup in long strides, rendering any confirmation obsolete.

"Damn, girl, how long has it been since you've eaten?" Clint chuckles under the remark, eyebrows raised, teeth glinting out from a salty smirk. I pull the bowl of glorious nourishment down just long enough to take a rushed breath, to see Steve's deep blue gaze cut into me with a mixture of guilt and grotesque fascination. _Don't care. Eating like a pig in front of six superheroes, and I don't care._

"Can't talk…mmmmsooogooood…" I mutter through slurps of soup- _beautiful, wonderful, love of my fucking life soup-_ before shoving a crab puff into my mouth whole.

"About 60 hours or so, if you don't count the glucose drip." Bruce pipes up after swallowing a mouthful of moo shu pork.

Thor laughs warmly between shoveling fried rice into his gaping, blonde bearded maw. "She deservesh the enchire feasht, ven." He can barely form the words through his food stuffed cheeks.

"You can say that again." Tony smirks, sitting back between Thor and I on the couch facing the flatscreen, twirling lo mein around in a takeout box with an expert flick of his chopsticks. I'd be annoyed at the way they talked about me as though I weren't sitting in the middle of the room with them, but I'm just too damn ravenous. _This soup is better than sex. Holy hell._

"A birdie told me you're going to be starting R&D work for Stark tomorrow." Natasha's voice slips over from somewhere to my right, and I begrudgingly pull the bowl back down after draining the last drop, a satiated sigh bursting unbidden from my chest.

"Let her eat, Tasha. I'd say we've gathered enough on her life to allow her that." Steve's voice is dark, too soft as he hunches over his third box of sesame chicken beside her, curled on the couch set to the right and perpendicular to mine. _I wonder if he's ever tried to win an eating competition._ I subconsciously lean toward Tony, bracing myself for a scathing agreement, but none comes. I see Bruce's eyes dart his way as I steal my own glance- he simply sits, scooping noodles into his mouth, staring coldly at Steve. _That's gotta be worse than any snarky reply for the Captain._

I wonder if they'd ever get through this, if they'd ever been close friends. From the way Tony spoke to Steve, and from the way Steve mother-henned him when he arrived at the cabin, I was under the impression they were on very good terms. _They must have been. You can't be on a team for years, handling each other's very lives without forming some kind of deep friendship… can you?_ I close my eyes, half reeling in the sheer satisfaction that was gorging myself on Chinese, half in concentration as I try to tap into Tony's emotion. _Why do I have to try?_ His arc reactor registers dim at my side, the whisper of muted hurt, of aching disappointment brushing rough against my ribs. He is brooding. It is harder to tell empathically for me now than to just read his body language, and now that I'm not completely transfixed by a single minded hunger, the oddity of this makes me more nervous than I would like to admit. Even if the anxiety feels so far away as to be almost forced, or fake.

That's when I notice it- the mass of black that sits just past Thor in my inner vision, at his feet. Wispy tendrils smoke around it, wave in front of the blue light of the reactor, choking away the strength by sheer proximity that the reactor's radiation should have in my mind. I hadn't picked up on it before, because _everything_ inanimate around the arc reactor's light appears to be some shade of amorphous black, but this… this was different. The darkness of this object made the rest of my field of perception appear deep gray in contrast instead.

"Would you two just kiss and make up already? The tension between you is making my fuckin' fingers twitch." Clint's rough voice cuts into my focus, makes me peer at him, the ghost of worry still pulling my lips in the wrong direction.

"Aye…It pains me to see my shield brothers at odds with each other." Thor rumbles, setting his carton down gingerly.

"I've said my piece." Steve's voice sounds oddly brittle. I reach into him and feel daggers of helpless frustration and regret tearing through him in turn, their edges blunted by the strange black blob across the floor from him. Tony can't even be bothered to stare at Steve now, much too busy with noodles and a silent treatment that most teenagers would be jealous of. _Subject change would be reeeeeally good right about now._

My hand has found its way to Tony's knee and it squeezes pointedly before I stand, tired of the sound of tense chewing around me. "Would anyone like a drink?" I offer, stretching the tension out of my shoulders.

"Double scotch, no rocks." Clint barely even looks up at the offer, but he's as eager to loosen up after this _lovely_ meal as I am, apparently.

"Same, please… really it would be better just to bring the bottle." Natasha adds.

"I brewed some rooibos tea as we were sitting down to eat, if you'd like to have some of it." Banner shifts in his seat, whether in the discomfort of the situation or to give his stomach more room after stuffing it, I can't tell. He is really the only one who seems Zen amongst us all, and I take note of it to help assuage the creeping, irrational guilt I feel about being at the heart of the issue between two of the Avengers. _Maybe I should just… leave. But then, no…Tony would blame Steve for it somehow and I will have just made it worse, ironically…_

"Tony, help me out?" He unburies his intent gaze from what's left of his noodles and catches the hint in my narrowed eyes.

"Me, _help_? Since when?" His smirk is familiar as he pushes himself onto a sore foot, but honeyed eyes don't sparkle like they should when his lips curl the way they are now. I hear Clint snort as I make my way to the bar. "I swear to God, Clint, if I hear you make a whip sound I will force Jarvis to impersonate Hal 9000 and wake you up every time you enter your REM cycle." Tony sneers over his shoulder. Natasha snickers at Clint, whose sudden, frigid blast of fear is softly palpable even as I increase my distance from him.

"Buzzkill." Clint mutters, out of spite.

"He's tearing himself up about this Tony." I mutter at him as I pick through the bottles of liquor stashed under the bar. "You need to let it go." I feel Tony bristle for a moment, wrestle with himself.

"Listen, I get it. You're a saint, who forgives and forgets in less than a day. But I'm _not_ , Lauren. He saw what you did for me, he was _there_. We're supposed to be teammates, to trust each other with our lives in battle, but suddenly he can't even trust me to know that the person I owe my sanity to isn't suddenly going to murder him in his sleep. In  _my own tower_! On top of that, he doesn't trust me to keep _you_ safe from the fucking paparazzi, of all things- like they're not already eating out of my hand. Really, it's goddamn _insulting_. I've been twisting them all around my little finger since I was _six_. I finance this whole operation! I design the suits he wears, the arrows Clint shoots, the daggers Natasha throws around-- all of it! And he can't _possibly_ be bothered to give me the benefit of the d-"

"-Do you trust _him_?" I cut him off mid tirade and the rest of his breath hisses out.

"What?"

"Do _you_ … trust _him_."

"Not after the bullshit he pulled with you!"

"What about before that? Did you trust him?"

"We _have_ to trust each other when the shit hits the fan, I told you that, keep up, Doctor." His eyes narrow with petulant impatience.

"What about when you got shitfaced and decided to see if you could survive a freefall impact from thirty thousand feet up?" Tony's mouth was opening to pick up where he'd left off, but the question makes his jaw pull back up, a dull shock flying from him like the crack of a gunshot. I take the moment to peer into him, raising a hand to his jaw to steady his emotion, to let him know I am trying to make him understand something important, not lecture him. We've already been crouched behind the bar at the far end of the common floor for far too long, but that doen't really matter to either one of us at the moment.

"Did you trust him then? To tell him how you felt inside? Or did you lock yourself in the workshop until you snapped instead?" I don't really know the answer to that rhetorical question, if I'm being strictly honest- the skeptic inside me pulls at my mind, insistent on my realization of that fact. But as he just stares into me, long brown lashes framing sharp honey eyes, lips pressed together in a grim line, my supposition is all but confirmed. "Maybe he's just scared, Tony. Maybe he's terrified that something will happen to me, or between us, that will send you spinning off the deep end and you won't come back." Tony's eyes soften a bit as they flick down to the floor.

"Is that what you felt?" His voice is low, resigned.

"It might be." My thumb traces the curve of his cheekbone tenderly before my hand slides away and I grasp for the Scotch, bringing it into his hands. "But you taught me a couple of days ago not to assume I knew why people feel what they do. It's not my place to ask this time." I hear his breath rush out slowly, thoughtfully as I stand, grabbing at the teapot and a couple of mugs sitting near it. The arc reactor follows behind me, spitting a weak blue glow, struggling against the black across the room.

As I sit next to Thor and pour a cup of my own personal ambrosia, I peer around the arm of the couch nearest the giant Viking. My eyebrows fall, eyes narrow before I realize I might end up spilling the tea in distraction, and I just can't have that. Not with rooibos.

"You've taken a keen interest in Mjölnir, Lady Lauren. Have you not seen me wield it in battle before?" Thor grins like I've just complimented his entire ancestral line. Looking at the weapon directly sends a strange, numbing tingle shooting up my spine.

"Not up close, no. But… _wow_ that's weird." The end of my sentence falls just under my breath and Thor leans forward to hear it as I feel the couch dip to my other side, Tony clinking the scotch bottle down in the sparse empty space of the coffee table among half eaten takeout.

"What?" Clint's eyes shift over to the hammer, posture instantly tensed as though it may fly up and assault him on its own.

I'm compelled to slide off of the couch and kneel next to Thor's giant boots, and an errant hand shoots out to touch the shining metal of the hammer- in that instant everything seems to fall still, as though the world was a pair of speakers I'd hit the mute button on. When Clint's eyes return to mine he jumps minutely.

"Uhhh… Bruce?" Clint's shifting nervously, fingers flexing without a bow to comfort them. Bruce was in the middle of a sip of tea, but he sets the cup down gingerly in my peripheral as I stare at the hammer, shifting mindlessly to run fingertips over cool and strangely smooth metal. He removes his glasses slowly. The hammer's silvery metallic surface seems to crawl with black smoke, my empathic sense is shifting over my vision uncontrollably but only in regards to this particular object, and the tingle in my spine begins to settle as a humming vibration at the base of my skull.

"Lauren. Are you alright?" My eyes shift up towards the overly cautious question and the moment I meet Bruce's gaze I see his eyes widen, just barely, before he seems to control himself. "I feel fine. Why?"

Thor's hand grasps my shoulder, half steadying, half restraining as I turn my head to look at him. "My lady, your gaze is glowing a strange color." His brow is furrowed, but I don't feel any panic from him, though based on his expression, I would have expected it. _I don't feel…anything._ Tony scrambles around the coffee table, kneeling down in the gap where Clint's legs should be, if they weren't pulled up under him on the left-hand couch beside Bruce.

"That's…that's the way she looked in the workshop, Tony." Steve was behind Clint's seat before I had noticed him move, and he squints hard into me, muscles of his shoulders crawling under his shirt sleeves as his fingers nearly punch holes into the couch back.

"I know, I was there." Tony snaps, on edge.

"It must be the hammer." I explain, voice little more than a deadpan. The moment my skin made contact with Mjölnir I was the observer again, though secured inside my own mind. On the inside, I am almost cold. _No, that's not right. It's the lack of emotion. Even tepid water feels ice cold when you've been in a hot tub for long enough._

"Tell me what's going on Lauren. What are you experiencing?" Bruce is pulling out another pad and paper.

"This is different, Dr. Banner. I'm not out of my body, clearly. What's fascinating…is that I am devoid of emotion, as I was at the moment I had separated from myself." --

_'At least she isn't turning green and smashing things. Could be worse.' --_

_'Oh God, Oh God she's gonna go all psychic robot and make shit float isn't she? I KNOW it_. _'_ \--

 _'_ _Can we just have ONE dinner as a team without some sort of anomaly…' --_

_'Don't pass out. I swear if you drop into one more coma I'm gonna… I need a drink. Three drinks.' --_

_'By Odin…Anthony has wonderfully intriguing taste in mates. Perhaps she could be persuaded to take up arms with us?'--_

Tony's fingers are wrapping around mine, pulling my touch away from the hammer- the instant I lose contact a faint rush of anxiety, caution, fascination fades into me from the bodies around me before it all dies away across the divide, like a wave breaking on shore and pulling back to the ocean. All but Tony's still faded concern and the too soft glow of his reactor faded back out.

"Thor do you have any enchantments on Mjölnir that would dampen emotion?" Bruce mutters through scribbling.

"I do not. My wrath is unbridled in battle."

Clint's peeking out over Tony's shoulder as though I'm a live grenade. "Is she done glowing? Oh good." His words rush out with a half sigh.

"I…were you all just talking over each other?" I'm breathing a bit harder now as the vibrations in my bones die away slowly.

"The only one talking just now was Bruce, Lauren." Tony's eyes pierce me with scrutiny, his face drawn tight.

"I…huh." _Fascinating._

The hand not being wrapped tightly in Tony's fingers raises to Thor. "Yes, he does have good taste, and what would I possibly be in battle besides one giant liability?" Thor's head tilts as he sits back, removing his giant hand from my shoulder. "And Clint, I know you're probably way too paranoid to believe me here, but I'm not a robot. Psychic, maybe, depending on your definition, but definitely organic, carbon based life form here." Clint's eyes are big as saucers as he scrambles over the couch back, nearly knocking Steve over.

"You…you can _hear_ my _thoughts_? Oh fuck, nothing's sacred anymore…" He despairs, bare arms flailing at Natasha, who hands him the bottle of Scotch as though _she_ can read his mind too. He's practically chugging it.

"Slow down there, hair-trigger. I want some too." Natasha sighs, rolling her eyes at his clear overreaction.

"Relax, I only… it was hard to pick you all out…but it's gone now. I could only hear when I touched Mjölnir…" My eyes were transfixed on the mass of shining silver and slithering void, as though it was calling to me, faintly.

"Tony, we need to figure this out." Bruce crosses his legs and arms at once, and there is something very willful about it. "How long would it take you to make a gram of Vibranium for me to run tests on?" Tony hasn't stopped pinning me down with his eyes since I made contact with Mjölnir. He isn't about to stop, it seems.

"Give me 48 hours, and a few tower brownouts, and I'll have it." His voice rivals Banner's posture.

"Thor, how difficult is it for you to get me a sample of Uru?" Bruce's question makes Thor sit up a bit straighter, one hand rubbing at a scruff lined jaw.

"I will speak to the All-father and see if he can't be persuaded."

"Uru." I echo softly. The word felt strange in my mouth, like cold cotton. _Must be the metal his hammer is made of._ Thor's already standing with the hammer in hand, the intent to leave for Asgard immediately in his steeled eyes. He has a quest, and he's no procrastinator.

"Wait-" I follow suit quickly, place a hand briefly on one boulder of a bicep. "Can we…can we just relax tonight?" He turns back, twirling his hammer in the hand furthest from me, eyes piercing before his expression softens into an amiable smile. I can hear Tony's soft grunt as he stands as well, watching cautiously. "I'm sure you're all tired of being relied on constantly, and I'd rather not be the reason for assembling… or whatever… this time." My head turns past Tony's shoulder to gaze at Steve, who stands with a hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, tracing his train of thought backwards to the moment I had touched Mjölnir. His eyes flick from mine to the floor and back, smiling faintly, producing the smallest nod of thanks.

"Besides, I doubt I'll stop doing weird shit in the presence of strange metals anytime soon, so there's no need to rush right into testing… let's just…Thor would it be ok to put Mjölnir in a different room for tonight?" The suggestion seemed terribly forward, but his warm grin stifled my embarrassment before it had the chance to sprout.

"Should I need it, a mere separation of rooms will not hinder its return." He rumbles lowly, hand clapping against my shoulder, squeezing it at the edge of too tight.

"Well here's hoping I don't have to replace the marble again." Tony mutters, barely audible.


	26. Jimi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this is a long one! One chapter without plot advancing points/ sexytimes couldn't hurt, right?
> 
> This one is filled with RDJ love. If you haven't heard Tony Stark's Sting impression, then visit this link- 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1crxmBTxRlM 
> 
> Warning: Link may cause fangirling.

As Thor strides off to hide Mjölnir somewhere, I fall back down onto the couch, no small measure of relief washing over me in a slow cool tide as I snatch up the last crab puff. It's cold by now, but my ongoing relationship with this particular asian-american appetizer is much too strong for that to dissuade me.

"Clint, how did you ever get into the Avengers if you're this squeamish about superhuman power?" I sigh, savoring the crunch of my food. The man I've addressed hops down from his perch on a barstool, the deep brown liquid in his coveted bottle barely rocking from the motion. The line of his shoulders loosens minutely. "Come on, man. Relax. Between you and Tony I'd get the impression I'm the most dangerous, most fragile mutant that ever existed." I take a deep breath in as I sip my tea.

"She has a point, Clint." Bruce matches my motions, letting a rumbling sigh escape after his own swallow of the magical drink.

"I was _assigned_. You make it sound like there was a tryout." Clint huffs, taking a long, slow swig of scotch, hips bumping up against the back of the sofa where Bruce leaned, surprisingly relaxed. "If you're wrong, and I end up mind controlled again, Bruce, you'll be my involuntary green pincushion for a month." Bruce just chuckles into his mug at the idle threat as Steve and Natasha gather up the remnants of food from the table.

"Well. Since Dr. Hunter has so graciously redirected half our team's crusade, who's picking the entertainment tonight?" Steve sits beside Bruce with a heavy rush of air, rolls his shoulders back, folding his fingers together in his lap.

"Clint. Bottle me." Natasha demands from the kitchen area, and no sooner than I can turn my head to her voice, the bottle of scotch is whipping through the air, landing with a firm 'thunk' in her outstretched hand. "Atta boy." She mutters through the sweep of red hair over her face as she bends to place uneaten food in the fridge, unscrewing the cap of the bottle and throwing her head back, face twitching almost unnoticeably as she takes a generous swallow of the liquid fire and screws the cap back on. "Tony, it's your turn. It's been your turn for weeks now, but you're either locked in your workshop in 'invention mode' or halfway across the world for Stark Industries." She drones. _Yep, nailed it._ I turn to Tony, lips curled and he glares at me, not ready for my haughty gaze.

"Because I have such a backlog of choices, as Widow so _kindly_ pointed out-" Tony flops onto the couch beside me again, laying two light smacks on my closest knee as he clunks his braced leg up on the coffee table. "-I will designate Dr. Hunter to choose in my name tonight."

"Cheater." I stick my tongue out at him over my mug.

"I'll allow it." Steve chances an uneasy smile in my direction.

"I wouldn't know where to begin, unfortunately." I gaze at Clint, hoping he can put his (probably) irrational fear of my powers behind him in order to enlighten me.

"What? What's that look for?" Clint's eyes narrow, head turning a bit. Natasha curls herself down to sit beside him, the last Avenger save Thor to make it back into the living area of the floor from the kitchen.

"She has you pinned." Her eyes glint as she turns her sharp gaze to him. "Show her the collection." Her red lips curl, delighting in the act of getting under Clint's skin. Clint casts a wary look at me, seeing the rest of his team turn to look at him expectantly.

"Fine." He concedes uneasily. "But if there's any funky metals in that closet and you turn blue, I'm never coming to dinner again." I laugh under my breath.

"Jarvis, scan the media closet for 'funky metals'." Tony's command is dripping in sarcasm.

"None detected, sir. Closet contents by volume are only 0.58% metal, most notably nickel and steel."

"Thank you." Tony's reply is aimed at Clint with an ornery smirk. Clint only sighs as he slides to his feet and presses on a panel on the wall to the left of where the flatscreen hangs. I follow in his wake, keeping a foot of distance, simply because I'm not quite as entertained by his nervous energy as his friends.

"Oh. Oh _wow_." My jaw drops. It feels like every movie ever made is here in blu-ray form, lining the deep walls of the closet from top to bottom in perfectly spaced shelves. The room cuts down the length of the common floor, a long and narrow closet hidden by the load bearing wall that the tv hangs from. I can make out where the sapphire cases switch to emerald green several feet in, and on the wall opposite them, at the same point, black cases- further down, a good chunk of the back wall is lined in white. _So they aren't console purists._ I slide past Clint and wander deep into the room, scanning movie titles as I go. I've already decided on some interactive fun, however- this is merely out of curiosity.

"She's headed towards the games, isn't she." Tony's voice beats through the wall, no small note of amusement in it.

"Don't make me choose Super Mario 64." I call back at him, the image of Mario plunging to his icy death continually bringing a wide smile to my lips as I walk further and further into the room.

"That's single player, Doc." Clint notes behind me, still at the doorway.

"Inside joke- ask Tony how shit he is at it later."

"I'll revoke my choosing privileges! I'll do it!" Tony chides.

"Yeah, yeah… _holy-…._ ok! Yeah! Definitely have made my choice."

As I walk towards the back of the room, I catch sight of two Fenders, an Ibanez bass, a large keyboard, and some advanced sort of electric drum set. They're distressingly dusty, along with the three mic stands huddled in the far corner, and I'm instantly determined to fix such an offensive travesty.

"She found the Rocksmith instruments, guys." Clint steals my surprise factor, and I chance a glare down the length of the hall at him.

"Rocksmith! Damn, I forgot all about that game." I can't tell if Natasha sounds excited or annoyed through the wall- Thor's warm laugh overtakes her last word, moving from the back of the closet toward where the rest of their voices emerge.

"A fine choice! I lay claim to the bass guitar."

"Where's the fun in that? We have to rotate, that's a rule." Steve's voice is encouragingly light.

"Little help here?" I call, annoyed that Clint's leaned against the doorway while I'm struggling with mass of awkward shapes that is the drum set.

\---

"Ok. So in my second stint with grad school, I had a group of friends that became obsessed with this thing." I'm flicking through the menus as Tony pours himself a glass of Brandy which had magically made its way to the table while I was in the depths of the closet. "We made a drinking game to go along with it…such fantastically smashed memories…" My voice drops slowly as the unfamiliarity of the menu screen begins to scratch into my train of thought, like a face I should know but don't. "Wait. This isn't…is this?" I mutter as Tony's glass clinks against the table.

"I… may have spent a few days in the workshop with this after we played it the first time." He explains through a cocky smile. "Allow me." He offers a hand, and I plop the controller into it.

"What did you do to it?" I'm stealing his brandy glass with an intrigued gaze. He doesn't even flinch, and that makes me silently happy.

"Added drum and keyboard support, mostly. Programmed in a setup that allowed the use of two monitors to separate the guitars and bass from the keyboard and drums, added voice recognition for harmony, had a friend of mine program tutorials for the drums and I programmed a basic one for the keyboard."

"You play keyboard?" _Is it getting warm in here?_

"Piano, but not since I was a preteen, with any regularity anyway." An undercurrent of embarrassment tickles my toes. _That's not mine. The great Tony fucking Stark, bashful. And I have witnesses!_ I stifle a pang of bubbling glee. Tony's eyes shift to gaze through the coffee table, his voice drops a bit softer, a small, sideways smile pulling back to reveal a canine before he snatches his glass back, busies his lips with more brandy.

"Is this- are we witnessing a moment, here?" Clint's snark slices into my focus, and the look of gone admiration that had crept onto my face falls into a tight lipped blush as I tamp down on the sheer annoyance that bursts from Tony.

"I was enjoying the front row seat, Clint. Can't just let me watch two grown adults act like lovesick teenagers, can you?" Bruce rumbles, a faux impatience covering his amusement. That small blush blooms into something I suddenly want to bury my head into the nearest pile of sand to hide.

"You have Thor and Jane for that, remember?" Clint shoots back before flinching at the body blow Natasha thumps him with. She snaps at him in Russian and he rolls his eyes.

"Aaaanyway. Drinking game. pretty simple, you take a drink for every ten percentage points you have left before a perfect score, rounding up. So say I get an 84%, I have to take two drinks…" Thor claps me on the shoulder.

"Friend, I am eager to begin already!" His smile is wide and brilliant, and between the brandy and the nostalgia of the game itself, I'm in complete agreement.

"Me too, Thor, but it was a different game back then so we have to tweak the rules a bit. The vocal parts, Tony, are they rated?"

"They can be." He waggles his eyebrows at me in challenge.

"Alright, so if you're doubling up with an instrument, you have the option to rate the vocals. If you turn on the rating system for your part, you have to add that percentage miss in as well. If vocals is your only job, you don't get a choice." Tony's rubbing his hands together evilly at my explanation.

Steve raises his hand gingerly at the corner of my eye and it takes everything in me not to burst out laughing at the absurdity of the gesture, considering the physically imposing figure it's coming from. "Yes, Steven?" I play along in my professor voice.

"So, alcohol doesn't affect me. Also, Bruce is an angry drunk, if you know what I mean- so maybe we shouldn't get him smashed?"

"And it will take several drinks to affect my constitution." Thor adds, a proud grin on his face. "Perhaps a head start would help?" He swipes the brandy from the table and begins to chug. Natasha claps a hand to her forehead as Tony scrambles over me for the bottle.

"Hey, hey! You want a head start, you use something _other_ than my Courvoisier. Go get the Stoli or something." His hand makes a shooing motion as he refills his own glass, clunks the bottle back down on the table.

"Good idea." Natasha's already halfway to the bar. Thor just licks his lips and winks at me, spreading his elbows wide as he threads his hands behind his head, leaning back.

"It won't be a problem, Cap. I have no skill for stringed instruments, and even less for percussion. I'd rather serve as the crowd in this case, it'll be just as entertaining." Banner hides his face in his mug.

"No, no no you aren't getting out if it that easy Brucey boy." Tony waggles a finger in his direction. "If you don't want to participate on the instruments, you can use that choir boy voice of yours."

Bruce crosses his arms again, one eyebrow raised at Tony. "Fine. But I have a two drink maximum, and after that I'm going to be as tone deaf as possible just for _you_."

"You've got a deal." Tony nods, smile widening to reveal his glinting teeth. "J, give me the second screen."

A panel I hadn't noticed slides out, a flatscreen identical to the first one whines into place, blinking on to expand on the song list now occupying the first tv. _I really need to stop being surprised at stuff like this._ Tony's smirking at me, clearly having felt the unbidden emotion. "Hold your applause." He mutters into my ear devilishly before I smack him with the back of a hand, just underneath his reactor. He makes a diva-like sound of indignance, putting on a show. "Such hate! You're a genius hater."

"Keep telling yourself that, hon." The pet name just slips out comfortably, Tony's lips barely twitch higher in subtle recognition, taking it in stride. I can feel him trying to hold back a burst of sun silk, but his effort is in vain. _Street goes both ways._

Steve clears his throat, breaking the stupid grins between Tony and me up while he dutifully finishes tuning a Fender. "Your move, Tony. Choose your band members and song, we'll rotate from there." Tony nods at him, putting on a gravely serious face for a moment which, ironically, is a joke in and of itself.

"Clearly, I need to knock the hater down a peg." He muses, stroking his beard with his thumb and forefinger like a criminal mastermind. "Jarvis, what instruments are active in 'Message in a Bottle'?"

Clint snorts. "Wait until you hear his Sting impression."

"Can it, Birdbrain." Tony shoots him a scowl as Jarvis interjects.

"Keyboard, rhythm guitar and third vocals are not active, sir."

"Alright, yeah. The Police, I should know that by now. Okay… Tasha, drums?"

Natasha was already moving to perch on the stool set up behind the precarious tower of slate grey discs. "Always drums." She grumbles, taking a generous swig of Stoli, passing it off to Thor.

"We haven't played this game in two years, you big baby." Clint sneers, ducking a flying drumstick. "And you should like the drums, because it’s the only instrument with optional projectiles. Plus, female drummers are hot-" The other stick whacks Clint in the ass as he turns to pick the first up. "Ow! Dammit, Widow!" Bruce tries valiantly to hold in a snort of laughter and fails miserably, the choked sound echoing into his mug of tea.

"Brucey, you're my backup, homeslice." Tony grabs at a mic on the table and tosses it to Banner, who catches it easily with a roll of his eyes, setting the tea back down. "I was considering doubling up but the parts are so scarce, I'll just take lead vocals." He rolls a mic back and forth in his calloused hands, standing up and starting to pace. "Thor- bass. Ask and you shall receive."

"Wonderful!" Thor booms, hefting the dark silver Ibanez in his massive hands immediately, pulling the shoulder strap all the way out.

"Capsicle." Steve jumps at his irreverent nickname, eyes flicking up to Tony. His arms had been crossed, his blue eyes staring through the screen, not expecting in the least to be chosen. _Like the scrawny kid in a game of dodgeball._ The thought was both comical and oddly sad.

"Lead? Up to it?" Tony's smiles over his shoulder, face soft, eyes steady. "I know how much you like this one." He adds. The way Steve's face lights up brilliantly before he tamps down on his delight practically bowls me over with warm fuzzies.

"Sure." The single word is dripping with cautious relief. Steve's fingers tap idly over the frets of the Fender he had been caring for. His fingers seem to itch with impatience as he throws the shoulder strap over his head and stands up, positions himself in a way that has a better chance of preventing the guitar's head from knocking Natasha's drumset over. Clint and I have the same idea, and we set about pulling the furniture back and out to allow some room.

"Great work, Hunter." He mutters lowly to me under a simulated sound check as we pull the center couch back a few feet. "Usually Stark holds a grudge for weeks at the least." He adds, clapping me on the shoulder with his hand before he remembers to be cautious of me, yanking it back to check for a blue glow, or ectoplasm, or whatever he thinks he's going to find.

Tony counts them off, Natasha clicking her sticks together not with theatrics, but pure focus as the colored graphics and chord charts light up and fly out towards the impromptu band members. I'm instantly impressed with her form, fingers and wrists and arms working in concert with deft precision as she settles into the opening riff with Steve. The Captain's fingers start off a bit rusty, a few notes plunking with the irritating 'miss!' word at the forefront of the screen, but he grits his teeth, and it seems to come back to him easily enough, a couple of bars before Thor and Tony come in with their own parts. It looks to me, over Tony's abandoned glass of brandy, that Thor could have played bass in his sleep, but then this was 'Message in a Bottle', not a Rage Against the Machine song, and his fingers make the neck of the Ibanez look like a small child's toy. Still, he is already assuming the Viking Metal pose as his broad torso curls over the instrument, flowing blonde hair falling over his face, and for a brief moment I see a much larger, much more muscular and oddly gleeful Kurt Cobain.

My scrutiny of Thor is yanked to a halt, attention ripped covetously over to Tony, who, in the moments preceding his part's entrance, had slid the mic on a stand and slipped his hands into the pockets of his stone washed jeans, rocking front and back with his shoulders on the down beats with an instantly mischievous grin. But as the first words roll onto the screen above Natasha's row of precisely executed percussion, his hands whip back out of his pockets and he grips the mic, clinging to the stand, chest expanding like a rooster beginning to crow.

" Just a cast-away… island lost at sea oh!...Another lonely day-- no one here but meeee ohhh…" Tony's body rocks slowly into the mic as his throat swells with the sound bursting forth, blending into the rest of the instruments perfectly. It was as though he had stolen Sting's soul and forced it into labor for him- and I might have believed that to be the case, if not for a few details-- the timbre of his voice was just a bit richer, his lower range a bit more gravelly, the letter 'r' minutely harder as it slips through Tony's teeth. It's strikingly close to Sting's style, a fantastic imitation, but also assuredly Tony's voice. _I don’t feel as though Clint's warning was impressed upon me nearly enough._

I have to put physical effort into preventing my jaw from hitting the floor. As for the rest of them, this is a normal occurrence, so his voice, and the efforts of everyone else currently occupied with the game, seem to carry them a bit deeper into the music, Bruce setting his own mic into its stand to free his hands for clapping softly to the beat, curly hair bouncing sharply as one heel raises and falls to keep time, whole body itching with rhythm. Thor's head is nodding, his curtain of hair shifting in languid waves of recoil, shoulders flexing as he hunches over the bass guitar. Steven's eyes are cast hard at the screen, using the colors and charts to guide his way when his memory gets a bit spotty, but the blooming grin on his face is contagious. And the way Natasha plays drums was…fierce. Everything about her is. Her movements are precise and lithe, and her torso sways smoothly with the stomp of her right foot on the bass pedal- it looks as though she is pouring all her effort into the song and yet none at all.

 _Surprises_. It is the only word my brain can form, as I lean against the back of a couch, staring at the swaying form of Tony as he belts out the lyrics. The chill of his brandy glass against my tightly gripping hand barely registers in my mind. As the players plow through their chorus, Tony turns around to cut me down with lasers of honey brown, roguish, wide smile flashing brilliantly. Pure, unrestrained lust cut with sheer admiration surges from the soles of my feet through the crown of my skull, washes outward in a vicious ripple, and I pull what's left of it back in as an afterthought, kicking myself mentally for forgetting the emotional tractor beam of his arc reactor. My knees nearly buckle underneath me, whether through the effort of sheer will it took to restrain myself, or the overwhelming rush of teenage hormones his performance is infusing me with, I couldn't tell. At this point, I can hardly see straight- but I watch the whispers of a blush crawl up the corner of his neck, watch that piercing gaze turn dark, hear the way his measured breaths turn heavier and the timbre of his fantastic voice get thicker. His grin stretches wide as the song affords him a break between the final chorus and the last few repetitions of the modified bridge and he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip before winking impishly at me and pivoting back around for the last of the song. _Aaaand now I know why groupies scream like brain dead idiots._ I take a deep breath and the gulp the last of the brandy in Tony's glass down, struggling to center myself.

"Most excellent, Cap!" Clint makes a deranged, tongue wagging face and plays enthusiastic air guitar as the game tallies up the score.

Steve chuckles, unwinding a bit more. "I sort of wish I didn't get that reference now."

"97%! I've bested this round, bow before my masterful play!" Thor shakes his hair out of his eyes, right hand raising in enthusiastic metal horns.

"Wait- how in hell did I get 96? _96?_ " Tony's raking a hand though his thick mahogany hair in disbelief. "Sting _himself_ has said I could be his backup singer! Ridiculous. Jarvis, earmark this game for later, I need to make some parameter adjustments."

"You got a little… _distracted_ toward the end there." Natasha stretches her bass pedal foot as she stands up, lips curling as her hazel eyes rake across Tony and me in turn.

"Can confirm." Steve adds reluctantly, rubbing his left thumb back and forth across the pads of his fingers one at a time. "Damn, I wish I could develop calluses." He mutters, and Clint giggles a bit, Scotch likely settling into his brain already.

"Alright, maybe, but that wasn't my fault." Tony defends himself in mock indignance. "I was being assaulted by Lauren's fangirling." My eyes grow wide before I squint in reprimand- the attempt weakened significantly by the guilty grin my lips betrayed.

"Such a whiner." Clint waggles a finger at Tony.

"Hey-- hey!" Tony raps his fingertips against the blue white disc in the center of his chest. "You can't feel it, I can."

"Okaaay! So Thor wins the round! Choose your song and bandmates, victor." I cut in, trying in vain to repress the fiery blush ravaging what feels like the entirety of my skin. The subject change is significantly more successful.

"Oh, here we go-"

"I choose 'Thunder Kiss '65'." Natasha's slight exasperation is cutoff by Thor's booming voice, and she resigns herself to locating the bottle of vodka. Bruce can't repress a pealing laugh, despite the hand coming up to clap over his mouth. "Clinton, at my side! You will be the vocalist." Clint's fist pumping instantly, tongue sticking out through his teeth in exuberance as he strides up to the mic. "I, of course, will be bassist. Steven, do you prefer rhythm or lead guitar?"

Steve's rubbing the back of his neck again as he considers. "Ah…rhythm."

"Wuss!" Clint cajoles.

"Better leave lead to someone who can be affected by the alcohol penalty." The grin spreading back over Cap's features is welcoming.

"Well… yeah that’s a good point." Clint mirrors his smile, with a devilish twist.

"Anthony, this song should be simple enough to conquer on drums, yes?"

Tony makes an insulted little gasp as he crosses his arms. "I'm gonna crush you, blondie." Thor answers the threat with a booming laugh, palming the brandy bottle and draining a hefty portion. "Thor! C'mon man." Tony swats Thor's hand away from his mouth and takes his own swallow of the Courvoisier before placing it back down, half empty. "I get no respect." He huffs, planting himself on the drummer's stool and twirling the sticks around in his fingers.

"So. Who's lead then." Natasha drums one hand's fingers over the opposite bicep, arms crossed expectantly.

Thor looks over his shoulder at me with a challenging smirk. "Lady Lauren should take a turn."

His look is almost predatory, and if I've said it once, I'll say it a thousand times- the fastest way to get me to do something, particularly when feeling a rapidly enveloping buzz, is to tell me I can't. Or, in this case, insinuate it. In two swift strides, I pick up the remaining Fender and throw its strap over my head eagerly, fingers running over the strings, picking out the harmonics to make sure the tuning was sufficient.

"Oh I know that look." Tony mumbles through the drumstick jutting between his teeth as he wiggles on his stool.

"Challenge accepted." I give Thor a rebellious sneer "And you're gonna pay for it when I thrash you." The delight in Thor's eyes was contagious.

"The gauntlet has been thrown- pray you rise to the occasion, Lady Lauren." He chuckles.

What Thor didn't know, was that this particular song was one of the first I had sat down and buried myself in during what little time I had between classes in college. It was just hard enough, with enough power chords and musical adrenaline to keep me interested in learning the solos that came in at the beginning of every chorus. So I assume my faux rocker position, which looks a bit like a smaller version of Thor's in mirror image.

"Oooh, I'm gonna start callin' you Jimi." Clint stretches with the mic in one hand, and glances over at Tony who is adjusting the bass pedal so that his uninjured foot could use it.

"On your mark, percussionist." I run my tongue over my top teeth as soon as the words leave my mouth. He straightens up quickly and throws a glowing smile back at me.

"Ok, who's gonna compliment me on the details here? This game is so much more immersive when I can just start the song like _this_." He twirls his sticks around before clicking them together like a metronome, and the bars take off obediently on his cue.

Steve and I fall into perfect sync, and Thor follows, hair already falling in front of his face again as his head bobs to the rhythm. The look on Tony's face is one of intense focus, eyebrows low and scrunched together his tongue poking out at the left corner of his mouth, teeth pressing down on it as he forces his left foot to do the work his right is supposed to. It's, in a word, hilarious. Thankfully my focus is pulled away from him by Clint, who is now doing his best White Zombie screamo impression, and it's…well…pretty damn good. It's a fantastic feeling, competing and working as a unit, everyone with a part to play. When the task is music, there's a deep seated, tribal sense of adrenaline fueled joy written in the very code of my blood, and judging by how intense everyone else looks, I'm far from the only one feeling this way. _I wonder if this is how their combat training feels._

I don't get the chance to wonder for long as my mind flags the familiar blobs and streaks of color that signify my first solo, and my legs instinctively take a slightly wider stance. My fingers fly across the frets, sliding and digging, mouth curling up, teeth bared, nose wrinkling in an expression I can only call my 'killing it face'. Clint takes one glance at me and throws up horns, voice even growlier and committed to the impression than before as we dive back into the second verse. The small lull after the second solo is filled with peals of laughter from Clint, Natasha and Thor as Bruce imitates Clint to the far left, brown curls bouncing around while he headbangs enthusiastically. _Now THAT… is priceless._ Tony's part is briefly reduced to soft cymbal hits on the downbeat and he takes the moment to glance over in a grin that threatens to crack his face in two, crow's feet spread wide, teeth gleaming. As he meets my eyes I mouth along with a female voice's words in the background audio sample (such things are common in White Zombie's works, sounding like they're from b movies or raunchy eighties porn).

 _'I never_ try _anything. I just_ do _it….'_ My tongue slides across my bottom lip, stance aggressive and theatrical. One eyebrow raises high on Tony's face as he stares back at me. _'Wanna try me?'_ I don't need to see the screen's antagonistic 'miss' under Tony's part as he struggles to match the swelling drum fill that kicks the whole song back into high gear after the break. The wave of electric want that rocks me off center is telling enough.

"Fucking cheater! That's _cheating_!" He snaps at me over the whine of my guitar as I dive back into another short solo.

"Too easy." I call back, sliding into the rhythm again, never missing a note.

"Aww yeeeeeahhhh." I've scored a 98, trouncing everyone else-- particularly Tony, who came in at a dismal 75. My pick fingers stretch, point at Thor's hulking figure as I gloat. "Hang your head in defeat, good sir." My words are starting to grow slurred around the edges, but that's right where I want to be for what's coming. Thor simply lets loose another hearty laugh after swallowing his vodka penalty down.

"I surely need to introduce you to Jane. She should be taught to shred as you do." The word 'shred' coming from Thor's lips is so surreally absurd that it pulls a giggle from my mouth.

"My turn, bitches." I declare, watching Tony stick his left leg out at a strange angle, wincing through a grin.

"Damn, shin cramps are the _worst_."

"That was massive, Jimi." Clint risks a high five, the lull of alcohol making him briefly forget that I can apparently explode his head at the drop of a hat. "How're you gonna top it?"

"Excellent question, Hawkeye. 'Nightmare', by Avenged Sevenfold." I declare confidently. Steve's eyes open wide, a sideways smile telling me he's faced the song before.

"Ooh! Omygawd, drums! I want drums!" Clint's practically jumping up and down.

"Showoff." Natasha's canines glint through a sneer even as she laughs below her word.

"Oh good, I thought that was gonna be hard to pass off to someone."

"I fucking _rock_ at double bass pedal."

"Alrighty…Bruce, up for vocals?"

"After missing the fun of the last song, sure." Banner steps up to the mic. "Almost too high for my range, but not quite."

"Thor, as just punishment for challenging my might, you are taking rhythm guitar this time. Natasha, how're your bass fingers?"

"Bah." The viking god relinquishes his coveted bass with a rumble to the redhead, who grins, satisfied.

"You'll see." She smirks.

Clint snorts somewhere in the background, muttering. "Bass fingers…"

I hear Tony flop onto the couch at our backs. "I'll just be enjoying the view." He winks at me, pouring another helping of brandy into his glass.

"Good. Put that goddamned leg up, will you?"

"Yes ma'am." He salutes loosely.

"May I?" Steve wanders up, awkward but firm, and gestures to the seat beside Tony, having been displaced by Thor. My breath hitches for a split second before Tony nods with a small smile and pats the space next to him in non verbal permission. _And all is right with the world._


	27. Daddy?

1:35pm January 20th- Avengers Tower, Manhattan, NY

"How goes the first day of work, Dr. Hunter?" Bruce's rumbling but amiable voice breaks my trancelike scrutiny of the illustrations and diagrams of neuronal structure I've scrawled on a sprawling electronic whiteboard at the back of my new favorite Stark Industries R&D floor. My eyes shift reluctantly to the doorway across the giant room, over microscopes and incubators, giant analytical machines and autoclaves, holographic monitors and matte black epoxy resin laboratory countertops. The simple act of surveying the room makes me giddy- it has everything I could ever possibly need and somehow much more.

"It's…perfect." I respond to him with an infectious smile. He rakes a hand through unruly curls and gives a small, simple smile to me with uncommonly full lips as he weaves through the lab without needing to account for its layout.

"Quite a reaction from someone migrating from MIT's labs. Feels like you're a kid in a futuristic candy store, doesn't it?"

"Precisely, you took the metaphor right out of my mouth, Dr. Banner." My words are riddled with a muted chuckle.

"Imagine my nerdy glee after my time in India." He notes with a childlike sparkle in his eyes. "I understood Tony's habit of closing himself off for days in his workshop after one day here." Bruce drags one hand over an onyx colored countertop as he speaks, still making his way towards me in an easy gait. His form is deceptively diminutive, he's likely the exact same height as I am, and yet his stature and reserved demeanor help to hide an explosive sort of brilliance behind keen, impossibly dark brown eyes. _Who would suspect the 'other guy' he bottles tightly inside?_

I realize I'm still smiling like a brain dead goon at him as his hand flicks out to grab a tall rolling stool like the one I am seated in, his unobtrusive gaze pulling up to the whiteboard. Bruce places a compact hand over his mouth, bothers at the grayed stubble there as he deciphers part of my life's work.

"A link between radial glia and oligodendrocytes, huh? So you're attacking the problem from the angle of neuroplasticity." My face can't help but widen in its stooge-like grin. It isn't often I can converse with someone who picks up on my research immediately.

"Yeah. I'm trying to develop a method similar to optogenetics in order to trigger the formation of more precursor cells in the hippocampus. I've finally managed to isolate the directory genes for those exact cells, but triggering them is a whole other animal, it turns out."

"Definitely. Finding something already there is one thing…modifying it to play by your rules is always orders of magnitudes more difficult." The sentence holds a dual meaning, I realize, as his eyes flick to me from the marks scrawled on the wall. "Is there anything you need that I might supply? I have samples of ectodermal tissue on my floor, if you need some developmental test fodder." His hand is still over his mouth as he addresses me, one half of his lips visible past a knuckle. There's an odd glint in his eyes that I can't place, past the most basic sparkle of the thrill induced by undertaking a mentally taxing challenge. It gives me pause, makes me want to reach into him, but I'm reminded quickly by the memory of burning rage a few days past that I'd need to suppress that knee jerk whim to use my abilities as a cheat sheet for body language.

"That would be…significantly helpful, actually." His full lips curl upwards minutely.

"Of course, I'd give you a sample of CSF from Steve's last physical too, if I could, but the U.S. government is about as trusting with other scientists' breakthroughs as I am trusting of the U.S. government." My eyes narrow, head drops to the side a bit, trying to determine how sincere he is. Bruce gives a short, pealing laugh at my expression, hand moving from his mouth to curl around my upper arm amiably. "Meaning they consider me a 'dangerous Anarchist', whether that’s true or not, and I might be shipped back to India for even offering such a thing out loud. Fortunately any attempts to plant surveillance in this tower by those overzealous talking heads have been dismal failures to date."

My eyes widen a bit. "They've…tried to _bug_ Avengers Tower??"

Another half restrained chuckle bursts from him. "It's a point of contention between Tony and Colonel Rhodes. They're still extremely close friends, but I don't envy Rhodes' position- he's had to prove his loyalty to the vapid idiots above his rank while secretly warning Tony so many times now that he likely feels more like a double agent than a Colonel."

"Well shit. Now I feel guilty for agreeing to work with the Pentagon for so many years…" I mutter, shoving a few strands of unruly hair away from my face with a palm. Bruce grins, his hand returning to fold across his chest as he shifts on his chair.

"I forgive you. I doubt your experience with them was nearly as…trying…as mine. That, and Stark Industries is likely the only entity that can compete with the government's budget and resources when they're aimed at people like you and me."

"I think, at least for me, it was less about my pay and more about the fact that I've been happy as a hopeless idealist for far too long. Government is supposed to be designed for the good of the people it governs, is it not? I can be incredibly cynical, but I…want…to believe that _someone_ at the head of things isn't just a power hungry dickhead."

"You're in the right place then, I'd wager." Bruce slides from his stool, turning his gaze down to push the wrinkles from his lab coat idly. "Have you eaten yet? I started out with the intention of asking you to be my guinea pig for a few minutes, but leaving my floor reminded me that I might need a break." Banner offers a hand to help my decent from my own chair. I take it, knowing the gesture is entirely unnecessary, but it would be rude to refuse.

"Yeah, I've been in a work-trance since setting foot in here. Food would be nice." I concede. _Either Tony surrounds himself with very driven people, or he's pumping some sort of focus inducing gas into the tower._ My lips twitch, amusement settling into my bones. I'm not sure what it is about this lab that sets it apart from my MIT space, but I feel as though I am much more productive here-- the act of putting my nose to the grindstone ordinarily leaves me feeling exhausted, but today I wager I could keep going for many more hours. _Then again, many other extraneous factors have changed since I last worked in Massachusetts…_ e _ven if that was only last week._ Strangely it feels as though it's been a lifetime ago.

"What did you have in mind? For food, I mean." I ask, my gaze settling over Bruce's shoulder, at the sleek glass doors.

"Stark keeps talking up this sushi joint a few blocks away called Natsumi. I'd bet he hasn't eaten either…well- who am I kidding, that's a given." I catch the demure smile Bruce's lips pull into as I shed my lab coat and we begin to leave. "I think it'll just be the three of us though, that is if we can get him to emerge from his hidey hole." His voice swells with a warm chuckle.

"It would be decidedly easier if hunger were an emotion, I'd bet." I note offhandedly. Bruce pauses, falling back a step.

"Wait, so you can't use hunger? Is that the only thing?" His stomach gurgles loudly in protest and I can't hold back a laugh. "Right…ok, food first, fifty questions later." His face is a shade more red as I turn to watch him catch back up to me. _Fucking adorable, this one._

On the descent into Tony's workshop, my nerves began to crawl. I see his arc reactor the same way I had the night I interrupted his fight with Steve, and I have to fight a small wave of slithering fear as it courses through me in the few moments it takes to come within sensing range of his emotions. Bruce picks up on the uncomfortable shift in my posture and his eyes flick across my cagey form for a second.

"Are you alright?" _Man I really need to work on accidentally telegraphing my emotions…_ A weak smile emerges at my mouth, aimed at reassuring him.

"I just need to get past the last few days. I'm fine." A small sigh escapes my lips in a subconscious effort to slow my heart, which has begun to thrum in my chest. Fortunately, as the elevator begins to slow and the haunting blue white orb of light in my empathic sense levels out, only a sense of exhilaration and giddy anxiety washes over me. My eyes close in relief, the logical part of me emerging with a haughty 'I told you so'.

Pantera's 'Heresy' thumps viciously against the glass separating the hallway from the workshop, the whining sounds of machines forming an undercurrent of white noise. Bruce sighs just above the muted din and strides confidently ahead of me, knowing he's walked over the threshold of this hallowed birthplace for brilliant metal monstrosities several more times than anyone else in the tower. _That, and I don't have any codes to get in._ Banner's fingers flick along the keypad in what must have been a seven or eight number long code- _ludicrous much?-_ and the door slides obediently open, unleashing the full force of the sound it had valiantly held back a second before. My eyes turn to Tony's hunched form, back turned to Banner and me, before being assaulted by sparks of golden light showering out from behind his silhouette. As I squint I catch the glint of a hot-rod red helmet on his head, reflecting the shop lights. Tony's torso is bobbing along to the blaring music, trancelike, even as he presses an acetylene torch to a sheet of some unknown metal. His enthusiasm infects me, the music injecting a reckless energy into my core, and I'm grinning without a thought as to why.

"TONY!" Bruce bellows over the raucous assault of sound, and his target almost jumps out of his skin, fumbling the torch before securing and extinguishing the rushing line of flame, thrusting a hand up into the air and theatrically forming a fist as he pulls his arm back down- the music cuts out, laying the sound of Dummy's whir completely bare as it carries scraps from the table to places unknown.

"For _fuck's sake,_ Banner." Tony's voice echoes tinny and modulated from his helmet as he turns around and props himself cockily against the surface of the table with wide spread arms. _He's using a suit helmet for a welding mask?_

"Why are you using the Mark 40 helm to cut metal?" I was on the verge of a laugh, and the way Bruce's incredulity gives voice to my thoughts pushes me over the line, a bubbling guffaw tumbling from my lips.

As the faceplate clicks open, I'm rewarded for my lack of control with a cutting gaze from sparkling honeyed eyes. The glint of teeth through a raised lip and the warm affection that blankets over me lets me know he's very bad at being mad at me.

"My suit, I do what I want with it."

"You lost your mask again didn't you." It was an accusation, very far from a question, and Bruce crosses his arms for effect, smirk growing in the midst of gray brown scruff. Tony's eyes roll theatrically.

"Yes, _mother_ , I lost my mask again. But let's be honest, here, I look like a badass with this baby on. So, I'm not trying all that hard to find it." Bruce rubs a hand over his stubble in exasperation.

"Better than the former theory that 'squinting is just as safe', I suppose." _Reckless idiot!_ My eyes betray my good humored shock as Tony peers at me over Bruce's shoulder.

"Surely you didn't valiantly brave permanent hearing loss just to mother hen me, Brucey boy." Tony smirks, teasing the tip of his tongue over a canine's point as his gaze rakes back from me to Banner.

"We're going to Natsumi, I didn't want to risk your petulance if you were left out-"

" _Petulance!_ Tsk, such accusations! See if I ever design flamboyantly purple yoga pants for _you_ again." Tony's eyes narrow to slits even as he grins unabashedly.

"Case in point." Bruce is chuckling under his words. _Why did I never have this sort of dynamic with my old coworkers?_ Tony's eyes follow the way my lips have to restrain their pleasure at the easy banter. Sun silk snakes its way into my chest softly as he winks through the metal jaw of his helmet.

"Natsumi it is. We can't mess around too long, though- I've got a new alloy in the oven and Dummy has a bad reputation for overcooking things."

The maligned robot in question has rumbled its way up to my side at the risk of my toes. Tony eyes it suspiciously as its arm whirs up, fingers clamping around the tail of my labcoat and tugging with surprisingly gentle dexterity. A confused grin bares my teeth as I peer down at it-- it's acting as though it needs attention from me. "Hey!" Tony barks, pulling his helmet off as he closes the gap between us. "Who taught you manners? Get back over there! You're gonna burn the muffins." Dummy rocks back and forth a bit, releasing my labcoat and opting to brush an open claw down my nearest arm, whirring indignantly. "She's _fine_ , you absurd mechanical pushover." Tony's shoving both hands through his hair, trying with minimal success to tame the damage his helmet's done. Another whir betrays Dummy's efforts to grab an empty, coffee stained cup from the nearest bench and hold it up to me. I take it instinctively, giggling under my breath. It's the same cup from the night I woke up on a metal table in this same room.

"Thanks, Dummy- I feel much better now. Listen to your daddy, ok?" I pat the robot on its casing- the gesture feels so alien and yet appropriate. The moment I withdraw my hand, the quirky machine twirls around and rushes back to its post, whirring and emitting various chirping noises. _I think I'm going crazy._

I set aside the cup and look up to find both Bruce and Tony staring at me- Bruce wears a highly amused smirk, Tony's grinning like some kind of idiot, with a cowlick to match. Sun silk practically strangles me before Banner moves past simple amusement and into a fit of giggles.

"Daddy?" Bruce's eyes shift from me to Tony, he's biting a knuckle to keep from losing his composure. Tony shoots him a scathing scowl, grin pulling closed into a taut line.

"Well he created the thing, didn't he?" _It's really not that absurd… is it?... Yep, I'm going nuts._

"Damn straight I did. Hell of a lot harder than making some snot nosed kid, too."

"Alright, alright. You're its daddy." Bruce holds the hand not caught between his teeth up as a white flag, even while stifling a snicker. "I think food would be wise, before we all end up in a padded cell together."

"I doubt food will have any bearing on that, in the end." Tony's already made his way to the door, bowing with a flourish as the door slides open with a hydraulic whine. "Up for a walk? I'm not quite done with the Tesla's cell upgrade yet, and the vultures have finally dispersed."

Bruce stands aside graciously. "Ladies first."


	28. Rage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING*** Explicit visual descriptions of post-assault people in this one. PLEASE be careful.
> 
> *Made some edits after the initial post, this will be the final version of this chapter.*

2:49pm January 20th- Natsumi Sushi Bar, Manhattan, NY

_Something's wrong._

"So he says to me, 'Tide goes in, tide goes out, _you can't explain that!_ '. I almost went code green right then and there!" Bruce's voice floats through the soft clinks of chopsticks and the murmur of conversations I'm not privy to, and it's only Tony's reactionary facepalm that shakes me out of a pseudo trance and back into the moment.

"What's the matter, Lauren? Not a fan of apologist appeals to ignorance? That story usually kills with my physicist friends." Dark brown eyes narrow warily across the table from me. At my right side, the blue light that's been a permanent fixture in my empathic vision shifts as Tony turns his attention to me fully. Muted concern nips at my neck from his direction.

"You've been pretty quiet since the rock shrimp tempura. Something not sitting well?" Tony's hand squeezes my knee tightly as his shoulders tilt to face me better.

 _Where is it coming from?... Why do I feel… fear?_ I'm questioning the veracity of my empathic sense for the first time since I was a small child. It made no sense- no one in the room had any reason to emit the slithering, black terror that has been increasingly nagging at the back of my head for the last thirty minutes. Initially it crept up on me, slipped under my readings from Tony- when you're only vulnerable to one person, you become accustomed to only feeling a certain suite of emotions at a time, and shining contentment doesn't come paired with the sort of cutting, paralyzing fear that has been fading in gradually. It's like drinking coffee after brushing your teeth- something's off, but the pervading flavor is too strong to remind you why it tastes the way it does.

"Lauren?"

 _Something else… sadness? No- despair. And disgust?_ This new perception has flowed in and around the fear, matching its strength immediately. _Where is it?_

"Dr. Hunter?"

 _Where in the hell_ is _it??_ \--

It's dark. The room is so dark, it's disorienting- and it smells like sweat, chemicals, and old cigarette ashes. There's a grey smattering of light filtering though an air vent near the ceiling. My wrists are raw and sticking together, legs stiff and cramping, mouth dry… it tastes like blood and cotton. A hulking silhouette appears in the flickering orange of a lighter, as the tiny room is plunged back into darkness, the cherry of a cigarette floats menacingly in my direction. Leather and metal clinks, rubs together- a belt. "Ready for more, you little slut?" --

"Lauren." Tony has leaned in and cupped the cheek opposite him with a warm hand, dragging my thousand yard stare until the vision of the growing alarm in his own liquid brown eyes brings me back to where I've been all along. "There you are…what's the issue-?"

"We have to go."

"What…? Bruce _just_ ordered the green tea ice cream. It hasn't even gotten here yet-"

"We _have…_ to _go. Now._ " The fear has spiked, rearing up like a cobra, fangs extended. It's hard to see the anchoring light of the reactor through it- I stifle the urge to scream at nothing. "Something is wrong." I'm shaking now, gaze darting around the room. Bruce's eyes grow tight as he watches my posture go taut with anxiety. Tony barely gets the chance to peel a fifty dollar bill from his wallet and leave it on the table before I'm out of my chair and stumbling across the dining area, fear growing so blinding that I can hardly perceive where the other patrons are sitting.

I burst through the doors, into the eternally busy city streets. There is no thought to my actions, I have no idea where I'm going, but my legs choose a direction and take flight. _Where is it coming from…?!_ I hardly register the sound of Bruce and Tony as they follow suit, a few moments behind.

"Lauren!! Bruce she's… terrified."

"Just run, old man- we'll figure it out when we get there."

 _It's getting worse. What am I doing? This is insane!_ I'm still at the mercy of my own legs as they carry me into the depths of the alley behind Natsumi, the fear growing more and more potent by the second, disgust gripping the pit of my stomach. None of my actions or feelings make sense anymore, it's as though I've lost control of my body completely. _No…I can stop. I just don't want to._ My heart has taken up residence in my throat and is pounding viciously. _I can stop… right?_

As I drop into a jog from having sprinted, I take stock of my surroundings. The phantom emotions are orders of magnitude stronger than they were inside the restaurant, but it's almost as though I've grown physically acclimated to them during my short trek- unlike what I feel from Tony, this is a one way transmission- I'm absorbing the waves, but I have no imminent reason to reciprocate. My name is ringing out from somewhere very far away, scuffling footsteps echo against the brick of the buildings behind me. Wrought iron fire escapes drip eerily with lingering rain that had ceased falling around the time I was devouring edamame in the building to my right. A clearly abandoned warehouse clothed in the graffiti of various rogue artists looms in front of me, the door beside its deteriorated loading dock is hanging ajar, a faded, waterlogged and stained sign posted behind a broken windowpane beside it- 'For Lease'. _I should stop. I'm not supposed to be here._ Littered around the threshold of the door- cigarette butts. A few aren't even wet, one is still spitting a slow string of smoke that waves erratically in the ambient air currents.

The fear is so powerful in this space that it has bled black, translucent tentacles into my sense of sight. My body drives me on, heeding nothing as I slip through the space left unguarded by the warehouse door. _This is how people die in horror movies, Lauren._ I find myself in a darkened hallway, the cracked paint on the walls is a sun faded, sickly yellow. The far end of the corridor appears to lead into the main warehouse area, but there are a few doors to my right that used to serve long forgotten purposes- a generic bathroom sign hangs askew on one, beyond it is a storage closet. I'm nearly choking on barbed, slimy fear, blinking hard to clear it from my sight. _More cigarette filters…_ My eyes flick up above the door- a single air vent is nestled between the ceiling and the doorframe. Without another thought, my hand is turning the doorknob.

_Jesus fuck._

Pale, thin, dirty arms hang bound, wrists rubbed raw, with thick twine from a steel shelf. A raven haired young girl dangles limply from them, head hung low in resignation, mouth gagged with a mechanic's oil rag. Her sky blue dress is smeared with grime and she's forced to squat on shaking legs- the height of the shelf she's tied to is not low enough to allow her to sit, but not high enough to let her stand. Most of her exposed skin is covered in bruises, small circular burns, and her tattered skirt hangs just high enough for me to catch a glimpse of the inside of a single thigh- it's streaked in dried blood.

I can't breathe, shock squeezes the air out of my lungs as she begins to lift her head with a weak, defeated whimper. The disgust drills into my heart, I swallow hard on the urge to vomit- I feel irreconcilably filthy, as though my soul has been soaked in tar and nothing will make it clean again. I've only felt this way once before, and being faced with it a second time nearly blinds me in a memory I wish I could gouge from my mind's eye.

_-"FREAK!"-_

I'm frozen still for a moment, pushing down another vicious wave of nausea, blinking away the water it brings searing into my eyes.

"Oh my-… oh my god." My voice is a hoarse whisper, as though waking from a night terror, still partially paralyzed. The girl's head snaps up, eyes wide. As she realizes I'm not her torturer, tears well up in her eyes, and the sickening fear's riptide pulls away just briefly enough to reveal a dimly glowing hope. I'm immediately fumbling with the knots that bind her hands, desperately angry at my fingers for going numb.

My breath catches like ice in my throat as I hear heavy footsteps coming down the hollow hallway, but my hands never stop tearing at the ropes. My fingernails sting with the effort, but I'm too panicked to care. _Yep, this is how I die._ My higher reasoning whispers to me about a white blue glow, but my reptilian response to terror squashes the thought before it gains momentum.

"Lauren-- why the hell-" Tony's looming in the doorframe behind me and his face goes white- an encore wave of shock washes over me as he puts two and two together. A moment later he's tapping at his watch, raising it to his lips, aghast expression unchanging. "Jarvis- get me the Mark 40, protoc-"

* _WHACK*_

A bloodied fist rails into the side of Tony's head and his body's knocked clear from the doorway with the force. My skull is rocked with an explosion of confusion, fear and anger before all feeling from him dies out unnaturally- his body lands with a _thud_ , all but his limp feet now obscured by the wall. The titanium brace glints weakly from under the hem of his jeans. A broad, imposing figure obscures the light coming from the door at the warehouse's front as it comes to a stop in the very spot where Tony stood seconds ago. A stench of grease and cigarette smoke heralds another wave of wracking nausea and terror.

 _He raped her. This depraved monster abducted her and imprisoned her in this god forsaken place and he raped her… and then he has the_ balls _to blindside Iron Man._

- _"You're disgusting, Lauren!"-_

The choking fear from my surroundings dies away and in its place is a single minded hatred. Rage begins to lick up my legs like a hungry infernal flame.

"Just when I'd started to have _fun_." The wretch shoves a hand behind his back and wrestles out a handgun, head turning to cast his gaze down at the limp body at his feet. His arm straightens out in slow motion, angled past the doorframe, the gun surely aimed directly at Tony.

I implode. The vindictive, hatred fueled rage is consuming my entire body. There is no room for anything else inside of me, no fear or regret or doubt. Time has slowed to a crawl as my hand, fingers bleeding from the twine, reaches out and launches the overflowing, infinite rage into the center of his weight like a cannonball. He drops to the floor against the opposite wall of the hallway, gun clattering to the ground at Tony's unresponsive feet.

A piercing, bloodthirsty scream rings out from inside the closet, but I've lost my mind and don't recognize it as my own. As the scumbag recovers from being blindsided with the purest form of my power, his body betrays him, muscles uncoordinated and destructive- as though his limbs are each possessed by the rage I've projected independently, and all they want is to destroy as much drywall and concrete as possible. His fists rain down against the concrete, legs kicking out with as much force as they're able to muster. The sharp thuds of his blows turn to meaty bone crunching thumps as he breaks his limbs against cold concrete. His voice is no longer capable of words, only producing a hoarse bellow, the rage I've infected him with leaves no space for pain or reason.

In the time it takes for the blaze of my emotion to extinguish, I register the feeling of the ground beginning to tremble rhythmically. A sound like brick being bulldozed just a few feet from me shakes me from my possessed state- dust from the long abandoned ceiling falls on us all.

"RrrrRRRRRAAAAAAA!!!"

A massive green fist pounds through the wall separating us from the warehouse floor, and in one overwhelming rush of deafening motion, the rapist is being pulled through a freshly punched hole. A deep scream of terror soothes my bloodlust as I watch him fly through the air and land like a glorified ragdoll at the opposite end of the empty warehouse floor. The man's beaten body doesn't produce so much as a twitch after sliding to a halt- either because he's dead, unconscious, or just smart enough to realize that playing possum is the only defense against a nine foot tall, bright green mass of muscle and pure rage. Particularly when he's roaring loud enough to make ears bleed while punching craters in a concrete floor. _Especially_ when his best friend has just been knocked out cold by a demented rapist and an empath radiating the very emotion that fuels him is just a few feet away.

A smoke bomb of confusion and terror rips across my senses as Tony wakes to the peaceful serenade of earth shaking Hulk-howls. I'm torn between freeing this poor girl and rushing to his side, but I make the choice to continue struggling with the knotted rope as she stares, too traumatized and in disbelief to react, through the hole in the wall at the giant, green, half naked man having some sort of child-like meltdown tantrum.

"Ohhhh _fantastic._ " Tony moans woefully, both confusion and fear dying away, feet sliding slowly out of my line of sight as he sits up. "Avengers, assemble… we've got a code green, west 50th and Broadway…Jarvis, _give_ me my _goddamn_ _suit_."


	29. Karma

_Get a hold of yourself, Lauren. This isn't helping, it would take a year to get the knots undone like this._ The girl's sending out pulses of fear mixed with an undertone of relief- she flinches uncontrollably as her glazed over eyes stare at the very real, very dangerous Hulk. Relief aside, the disgust remains potent, forcing me to shove down the echoes of my past constantly. Hulk is busy ripping up chunks of the concrete floor as though it were made of styrofoam, and then slamming them down again- they crumble to chunks, flying in all directions. A stray fragment thuds against the wall, embedding itself in the soft material between studs. I flinch hard, eyes frantically roving the shelves for anything to help my quest. _Knife, scissors, anything…_

The telltale din of jet propulsion adds to Hulk's rage-howls. I turn to watch Tony weaving unsteadily through the door toward me, his right brow split open and oozing blood into his eye. His left arm shoots out parallel to the floor with a practiced certainty as the roaring of jets overtake the sounds of destruction wrought by the Hulk- a sleek gauntlet throws itself through the door and devours his hand, clicking into place. I catch a growing sense of frustration and reactive anger flowing from that blue white core, as though he hadn't been sucker punched, but rather stubbed his toe. The feeling reminds me to pull up a block to dampen any errant feedback between us. A warning shot of mental fatigue sends electric pain streaking behind my eyes. _I can't keep this up long…_

The rest of his suit files in through the door in a tight, precise arc, closing around him. He leans into the pieces, picking up his legs one at a time as the boots throw themselves around his feet. It's as though the suit is just another extension of his own being- something he was always meant to have, to be a part of. Tony's helmet is the last piece to arrive, slamming over his face at an angle that would worry anyone but him. He doesn't even flinch as the faceplate clinks closed and links into the arc reactor, eyes glowing to life with a fierce, solemn blue.

In less than a second, his gauntlet laser-cuts the thick rope I've sullied in dark streaks of red with my own ineffective efforts. The girl cries out softly in pained relief as her shoulders are allowed to rotate after being locked in one position for much too long. She falls to the ground with a grimace, shaking legs slowly unfolding. My gaze pulls reluctantly up into the slits of fierce blue that signify Tony's visual input feed as a cool, smooth metal clad finger pulls my chin up to face his helmet.

"Get out of here." His voice is deadly serious, tinny but amplified by his suit. I can do little but nod with wide eyes as he turns without hesitation towards the gaping hole in the wall, suit's hydraulics whining softly, heavy boots clanking hard with each step. I stifle a reactionary pang of protective fear from within.

_*scrEEEEE*_

The telltale sound of repulsors readying to fire echoes in my skull before the blast they produce replaces it. The man of iron plods steadily through the makeshift entrance he's carved from the hole Hulk had left. Fatigued fear and fuzzy shock mix together into a dark grey fog behind me, reminding me to turn back to the reason I threw all sanity to the wind.

"Can you walk? We have to get you to a hospital." My voice feels alien and carries thinly above the roars of rage and ascending whine of repulsor fire. The trembling girl gazes through me, expression held in shock and awe. She gives a sputtering cough as I gingerly pull the gag from her mouth, toss it aside.

"I-…I think so." I can barely make out the tiny words, but that's all the confirmation I need to throw my arms around her ribs and haul her up with the strength of the adrenaline pounding in my veins. I have to keep her standing as she pushes herself up against the only wall not occupied by metal shelving, trying to force the blood back into her legs.

"Come on, Big Guy! The Theater District is no place to lose your cool!" Tony's modified voice is shouting at Hulk while he dodges giant green haymakers and concrete projectiles frantically, grazing his target and blasting apart the projectiles with weak repulsor blasts to keep Hulk's short lived and single minded attention span focused on him instead of the broken, bloody object of Hulk's ire-- or the two very vulnerable, very messy women clearly visible through the gaping hole in the wall.

I turn back to the girl and ease her arm around my shoulders, reluctant to take my eyes off the two superheroes. _Can't stop the freight train by staring at it._

"What's your name?" I mutter as she squeaks with the pain of stiff limbs, bruises and burns.

"Ada. Tanaka…" Her breath sucks in quickly as we begin to hobble forward.

"RAAAA-" *THUNK*

Hulk connects squarely with Tony's suit out of the corner of my eye and sends it spinning through the air. He chases after his target, tearing into the already shattered ground with his massive hands to gain quick speed. They're both out of my line of sight in an instant and I falter with Ada leaning heavily on my side, losing focus as I try to wrestle with the instinct to see what's happening in the battleground the warehouse has quickly become.

"BRUCE! Come on, man! You're better than this-"

"ARRRRAAAAGH" *CRUNCH*

" _Shit._ That's coming out of your paycheck- No, get back over here. nonono. No!"

*squEEEEE-*

A repulsor blast rings out over the ominous thumps of giant feet as they grow much too close. I pull Ada down with me instinctively as a giant fist rips through the wall above us, showering us both in fragments of drywall and splinters. Any number of heinous curses hover on my quivering lips as Ada screams out with what little force she can muster in her lungs. My shield fizzles out briefly, surprised terror and a wave of unbridled rage rock over my body in quick succession. Another searing poker of pain erupts behind my eyes and I strain to focus my vision, fight back the creeping fuzz around the borders of my sight. _NOT a good time to pull your fainting act, Lauren._

"Bruce!!" A metallic, musical hum cuts over our heads and stops in a tooth jarring _CLANG_ before the same hum zips back over our crouched bodies. Deep red leather boots march past us, steady and sure in their footing. "We talked about this. Separate friend from foe." Steve's voice commands respect as he barks at Hulk.

"He coded while resisting, not deliberately, Cap."

"I suppose Lauren has something to do with this then--?" Steve grunts as Hulk throws a wild punch at him, his boots slide back a couple of inches as they lean into the hit, his shield absorbing the blow with a strange sound. _Like ringing a gong and then immediately setting your hand down on it..._ "That's right, Buddy. Take it out on me." His voice is simultaneously commanding and soothing, enough that I'm certain this is one of many similar situations.

"Don't judge the situation before you-" *screeEEEE-PEW* "-know the facts."

"RAAA! RRRRRrrrrr-"

"You're making it worse, Stark. Evacuate those two."

"…but I was here _first_." _Petulant to a fault._

"RAAAAWR!!" *CRUNCH*

"Just _do_ it!"

Jet static becomes deafening as Tony rockets toward me. He's reckless, flying too close to Hulk's reach, and he pays for the mistake when a massive green hand snatches him from the air by his still injured leg. A modulated curse flies out from his helmet as Tony's whipped around by his boot, Hulk choosing to fling him through the warehouse's loading dock gate like a glorified discus before turning back to the Captain's shield.

 _Gotta do this on my own._ Newfound adrenaline drives me as I tighten my grip on Ada's waist, hauling her up with a pained grunt. Her muscles have had a chance to loosen a bit more and she supports her weight more aptly as we pick our way over the wreckage of the hallway and hobble towards the door.

The sunlight blinds me as we emerge from the door just in time to watch Tony aim his repulsors down and propel back up to his feet from his resting place down the alleyway. A twinge of relief leaks past the empathic shield which I've almost lost the energy to hold up. My skull feels like it's going to explode at any second.

Thunder rumbles in the background of my mind as Ada and I stumble down the alleyway. Sirens are nearing the street I'm aiming for. Thor drops into the alleyway from thin air, face grim and focused, in front of me- Black Widow's clinging to his shoulders before he releases her, whipping his hammer around. He tosses himself in a trajectory which lands him at Tony's side.

An impossibly close clap of thunder dwarves the sound of roars and repulsor blasts, and the Hulk howls in another fit of rage. "You're MAKING it WORSE!" I hear Steve bellow over rapid fire repulsors and another muffled gong. Widow's hauling Ada out of my arms and into her own as ambulance sirens reach a crescendo at the end of the alleyway.

"Think bigger, Doctor." She mutters in her deadpan way, eyebrow raised expectantly as she practically carries Ada to her liberation.

_The hammer._

Despite my terribly pounding head, I turn on my heel and sprint back into the fray.

"Hunter, are you suicidal--?"

"AAAAAAARGH-" *scrreeEEEE-THOOM* A chunk of concrete flies at my head and Tony vaporizes it, leaving warm gravel to shower over me. I'm undeterred. _Sick of running…_

"Thor! I need Mjölnir!" I shout as the Captain's shield clangs against the side of Hulk's head again, drawing his burning green gaze back to the leader of this unruly crew.

"Get out of here Lauren, before I fly you out myself!" Tony chides frantically, vaporizing another barrage of concrete missiles.

Thor is stone faced and serious as he flings himself over to my side. "M'Lady, what would you have me do?" _Yup, I'm really starting to like this one._

"Mjölnir. Let me touch it." A sly grin cracks his solemn façade, despite our situation. I would give him a withering death-stare if this were any other time.

"I doubt that to be wise, m'lady."

"Better than striking your teammate with lightning." My eyes narrow stubbornly. With a 'hmph', he holds Mjölnir out at length, the Uru humming with ambient energy, thick black empathic smoke pouring from every inch of its surface.

"Hulk!" I shout, my empathic shield fizzling out. Tony's anxiety and frustration wash prickly over me, a pang of fear cutting into me as he predicts my next move.

"Lauren, no!"

"HEY! You giant green _fuck_! Let Bruce come out and play before I kick your massive ASS." I scream. Thor's entire body tightens as he watches Hulk's eyes narrow, fist stopping mid punch to snarl at me.

"I daresay that's worse than lightning." Thor mutters at my side, right arm held straight out, Mjölnir presented inbetween Hulk and I. Hulk snarls and tears into the ground, leaping out of the warehouse towards Thor and me.

"BRUCE!!" *screeEEE PEW PEW PEWPEW* Repulsor blasts rain down on Hulk's back as he closes the distance between us in three loping, ground trembling strides. Time slows again as I reach up and press my left hand against the smoking black Uru hammer, all emotion dying out.

_\--"Steve! Thor, Widow, ANYONE get her out of here!!"--_

_\--"She's gone absolutely insane."--_

_\--"I do hope Anthony keeps her around!"--_

_\--"I just…ARrrrRRGH!!...I just want… to be normal…"--_

Hulk's face is twisted up into a grimace, teeth bared and glinting at me, breath short and rough as his arm sails toward me, palm open. My eyes flutter shut amongst simultaneous voices as his hand wraps around me and every sensation in my empathic sense turns to a blank white. My free hand manages to make contact with Hulk's jaw and, like oxygen rushing though a breach in a space shuttle's wall, the overwhelming amount of primal anger and hurt is sucked into my core. The hammer routs his emotion from my chest, through my fingertips. It eats the rage hungrily.

His grip loosens instantly as glowing green eyes tinge brown before rolling back into his skull. Hulk drops to his knees with a jarring _THUD_ , swaying just like Steve and Tony did some nights ago, the green shade of his skin fading, his body shrinking steadily back into a much more manageable 5'8". I feel his jaw slide out of my hand at waist level, and I open my eyes again just in time to see his silver stubbled jaw go slack as he slumps to the concrete. Thor withdraws Mjölnir the moment my hand slides away from its surface.

I drop to my knees as relief washes over me in a crushing wave, skull pounding with exertion. My arms catch my descent to the ground and I reclaim my breath at Bruce's side as he sucks in a spluttering gasp, like waking from a terrible dream. His dark brown eyes are bloodshot, rolling from one ally to another as he props himself onto an elbow, chest bare and heaving. When his gaze comes to rest on me, he sighs feebly.

"Good work." His voice is rough and thin- the 'Big Guy' howled so much that he's lost it.

Tony's boots clank up to our side and the hydraulics whine as he kneels. "I'm gonna need you to never do that again." He chides, voice heavy with gratitude even as he forms the words. "You alright?"

"Mm. Could use some Vicodin, but I'll live. Where's Ada."

"Ada?"

"The girl."

"Lady Widow loaded her into the ambulance- she's just departed." Thor bends to clap me on the back, sending another sharp streak of pain flying through my skull. I find it hard to be angry with him for the gesture, however. "You are a valuable warrior. Your surname suits you well."

"Heh… thanks."

Steve's boots crunch up behind us heavily, a small, wavering moan coming from his direction. As I turn to look, he's carrying the attacker over his shoulder none too gently, despite several gruesomely broken bones apparent in his limbs. "Someone want to explain why this guy looks like a living sack of meat?"

Tony stands back up, turning to face Steve and his unfortunate cargo. His faceplate clicks open as he takes an intense look at the maimed man and spits pointedly at the ground before responding with acrid venom dripping from his voice.

"Karma."


	30. Narcissus

5:14am January 21st- Avengers Tower, Manhattan, NY

 

_You okay?... Don't ever, ever, everever ask me to do anything like that ever again..._

_…I don't have anyone but you._

Emerald green eyes glow wildly, the gaze piercing as it flicks between Tony's chest and his face. The vivid color is both obscured and enhanced by the glistening of premature tears as she turns away, hair the color of dying embers swirling around her to hide her expression- a mercurial mix of frostbitten fear and soft relief.

_What do you want me to do with this?_

She hefts the bright blue half-sphere in her thin hands, fingers tightening on the metal to stop from trembling. Her eyes rest on the first iteration of the genius that freed him from hopeless captivity, irises dancing white-blue over green in the light, subtle wonder resting on her porcelain face.

_That? Destroy it. Incinerate it._

_You.. don't want me to keep it?_

_Pepper, I've been called many things. 'Nostalgic' is not one of them._

_…Will that be all, Mr. Stark?_

Deep hurt burrows ruthlessly into my bones, a terrible ache that throbs and tears at my core. It's the sort of indelible pain that leaves me breathless.

_…That will be all, Ms. Potts._

\---

"Lauren."

My eyes snap open into a soft void of darkness, the only reprieve a frosty blue glow at my side. My very soul aches, my chest tight, the burning of tears building at the corners of my eyes as my arms scramble to pull me up on smooth cotton. My sanity struggles back into focus as my eyes find a deep honeyed mahogany stare, edges like moonlight, reflecting the arc reactor. I find my breath slowly as a rough palm slides around my jaw, its warmth soaking into my skin, its thumb swiping away a fallen tear.

"It's my fault."

The words are broken and dripping with the same ache I'm gradually trying to shake from my bones. The sickening saccharine scent of brandy intrudes on my scrambled thoughts as my eyes come to rest on Tony's tight mouth, corners of his lips pulled taut and down to echo the pain flowing between us both.

"You…were dreaming about her." His breath catches mid sentence, his unoccupied hand shoving at one dark liquid eye, denying anything a chance to fall from bloodshot eyes past sweeping dark lashes.

"How did you--?"

"You sleep-talk."

"I-…I do?" _His dreams are so vivid._ My chest claws at a deep breath as my body stalls in indecision between fully recovering and aiding the rough mass of drunken hurt sitting, swaying beside me on the bed. "How long have you been awake?"

"Can't remember."

"Tony…"

"Been drinking."

"I know."

"I keep forgetting… it makes everything worse. Why can't I forget the things I _want_ to forget instead?"

I abandon my own recovery and move to pull him in. He complies gracelessly, head falling into the crook of my shoulder as I wrap my arms around him. One of his arms slides around my ribs as we lay back into soft pillows- the texture is a stark contrast to the way his anguish beats sharp inside of me like a maul of red hot spikes.

Sleep clumsy fingers find their way into the damp mop of soft brown hair on Tony's head- it's an instinctual reaction that's worked before, and so my body carries out the wish to comfort the only way it knows how at the moment.

"Talk to me." I whisper into his ear. His chest clenches in a half formed, bitter laugh.

"What did Tasha say about me? …Textbook narcissism. Look at me, doctor. I failed them- Dad…Yinsen… Pep…and all I can think about is how to forget. So _inconvenienced_ by their memory. That's why I took the suit so high. Look at where that got us, huh? Now I've got another person to drag into this black hole. You coulda _died_."

_Why does no one else see this part of him? Only reports of selfish arrogance, of overconfidence, bravado. Is it my empathic link? Is he just beginning to understand that his act can't be maintained forever, or is it that he knows there's no use in painting a façade of unshakeable will over himself when I can see right though it?..._ Yet, something about the circumstance feels right, despite the pain- _better to have several small earthquakes than the one that drops the entire landmass into the abyss. I just wish… he could do it without alcohol._

I'm not sure how much to chalk up to brandy, and what to take seriously at present. I regret for a moment that my schooling hadn't included more clinical psychology. I consider pulling up a shield but then decide against it, knowing it would add another lash to his self flagellation.

"For what? 'Cause I dragged you here. To fix _me_. Don’t you get it, Lauren?... It's all about me. It's always been, especially when Pepper…was alive." His last words are muffled as he turns his face to bury it in my shoulder, arms pulling tighter around me as though I'm the only thing that makes sense. Maybe I am.

"You're terribly concerned about everyone else, for a narcissist. Do you need me to tell you why that's inaccurate?"

"Please. Soothe my ego." Slurred syllables mush desperate drunken snark through my flesh.

"As you wish." Wet warmth soaks into my shoulder where his eyes press against me. "I doubt a true narcissist would have even bothered to fly all the way to Gulmira to avenge someone you'd only known a few days. Seems more expedient to simply continue being the Merchant of Death rather than to risk your fortune and life on undoing wrongs you didn't even know you'd allowed."

His arms cling ever tighter against me, the beginnings of a tremble traveling into my skin from his. "A narcissist doesn't ache for acceptance, doesn't become tortured at the memory of loved ones. He doesn't see anything beyond himself, right? On that premise, there would be no reason to be tormented by your own guilt. It's a convenient explanation from a cursory assessment. Patently false."

The trembling swells into full blown shaking as he stifles a sob in the meat of my chest. The pain swells so high that I can hardly think through it at all, let alone be logical.

"If anything…you're just a human trying to be indestructible- bitter that you bruise and break when you demand perfection from yourself. Terrified that you've made a promise to the world and to yourself that you can't possibly keep." His breath heaves hot and wet over my chest as he fights ruthlessly to regain his composure. My hand wanders from his hair to swipe firmly, slowly across the damp cotton stretched over his back, as though the ache can be rubbed from his muscles. _If only._ "That simple lie doesn't fool me. But that's alright, Tony. I'm not afraid of what you can't be...I'm just so scared you'll throw away what you _are_." My voice chokes to a wavering whisper, the deep ache clenching at my throat. I swallow it down and sigh it back out, willing it to scatter on the air. His arm pulls me in so tight that I know I'll bruise, but I'm not concerned about it. The only thing I'm focused on is squelching the pain at a faster rate than the pace at which it echoes between us. _I haven't thought about how dangerous I am to him like this. No-- it'll be ok. I can handle this. Think bigger, Lauren._

"What about her, Tony? How would she feel if she knew how you tear yourself apart over her?" He's forcing himself to breathe deeply now, the trembling still traveling across his skin in waves of aftershock as his fingertips slide over my hip, press into it firmly. "What about Yinsen? I dreamt of his dying words a few nights ago. What were they?"

"…Lauren…"

"Say them, Tony."

"…Don't waste your life." His voice is a slurred whisper.

"Don't waste your life." I mirror, neck flexing down to take in the soft spice of his scent. "Beating yourself down like this is a waste. It's a waste of time, of energy, of thought and emotion. Don't you think she'd want you to use her memory for something better than that?... I would." The throbbing hurt is beginning to slowly dull. His breathing levels out gradually as he considers my words through a clouded mind. Fingers resume threading through his thick dark hair, toying with small tendrils of it as I bide my time, wait out the end of the storm. Tiny threads of sun silk start to tingle at the skin that serves as his pillow, beginning the work of binding us together in the background.

"What did she look like?" He mutters, the hand at my hip sliding with a weak stutter up the thin skin of my waist.

My lips twitch a bit, playing at a smile no one can see. "She's… stunning. Bright green eyes, fire red hair. The way she looked at you- well. You must have seen it."

"Could you feel her?"

"I wish I could've." Another deep, centering sigh presses Tony's head firm against me as he's taken along for the ride. "I saw through your eyes. I felt what you felt."

"Then why did you say… what _she_ said?"

"I guess you were hanging on her every word." The bristles of his beard dig into my skin as a bittersweet smile flickers on his mouth.

"I did." A calloused hand strokes at the valley between my stomach and the jut of my hips idly. A flash of trepidation leaks deep blue from him as he inhales slowly, deliberately. "I…hmph." The breath leaks out again over my skin, raising goosebumps of overstimulation in its wake. "Doesn't it hurt you?" His hand draws still over my thigh, awaiting a response.

"Elaborate, dear Narcissus." I mutter into his hair.

"Pepper- I mean…"

I can't help a soft chuckle at the way he stumbles as I close my eyes, trying to find the right words. "It would be hypocritical and selfishly petty… to twist her memory for envy." _Futile and shallow. Even if I could make him forget, if I could pluck the memory from him to cut off the source of his grief- he wouldn't be the Tony I know._ "She's always going to be a part of you. You and I both know that."

My words hang heavy in silence, the soft hum of his arc reactor carrying them into the background. The warmth of the arm he had draped across my body is absent, prompting my eyes to open into the dark again. Tony's skin drags against the sheets, static betraying a steady rush of motion as his arms raise him up- his reactor paints a broad swath of crystalline blue on the cloth at my chest, reflection cast back on his neck, the curve of his cheekbones. He stares down into me, pools of deep brown cast silver gray by the ambient light, some untranslatable thought shining behind them. For a moment the white noise drops out as he holds motionless in reaction to my admission, an unknowable, incredulous expression hanging on parted lips. My hand raises on its own to push a wet trail from his fevered jaw- the contact prompts an unanticipated flood of silk down my arm, into my chest. His body follows the glowing tide as he swoops down and presses his mouth to mine, breath rushing out around me.

Brandied lips pull against mine, the emotions behind them complex and powerful. Wonder and disbelief, conviction and gratitude, deep and undeniable affection leak from his skin into mine, each one accentuating the next like vivid, ethereal colors. They overwhelm what's left of the ache in my bones as he scoops me up into his arms and buries his head in the crook of my neck, every action pulling the emotional tapestry woven between us taut. I simply sit, wrapped in his heavy limbs as his soul feeds on the warmth of our contact.

_I don't have anyone but you._


	31. Phobia

7:29pm February 1st- Avengers Tower, Manhattan, NY

"Lady Lauren." Thor's voice rumbles over the loud hum of a centrifuge as I painstakingly pour hot augur into Petri dishes at the back of my lab. His presence is so unexpected, call so booming that I nearly drop the entire container, a splash of the golden liquid flying across a nearby countertop indignantly.

"Jesus tap dancing Christ, Thor!" He's just beyond the countertop- the centrifuge had cloaked the sound of his movement before he had arrived there, and it's as though he's just appeared from the ether. _Or maybe I'm in a work trance again. Still, could a girl get a proper knock?_ The beaker of augur finds its way to the countertop safely, despite my adrenaline filled fingers. As I get a chance to look up at the towering man, I find his head cocked askew.

"Anthony and Bruce request your presence in the underhold." The scruff on his cheeks mutes a slow grin, clearly amused at playing the messenger. I catch my breath with an exasperated sigh as I peel off my lab coat.

"Why do you call his workshop 'the underhold'?" I can barely hide the beginnings of a chuckle as his eyes narrow in good humored defiance.

"Because Anthony does not _work_ there as much as imprison himself without sustenance or reprieve. But while we are asking questions, who is this 'Jesus' and why must he 'tap dance' so often? I asked Clinton this, and he told me you might explain it better."

I can't stop my head from shaking back and forth in disbelief, laughter nearly bursting from me. "He's the one with Irish ancestors. They tend to have more experience with this Jesus character than I ever have, so I can't in good conscience form a helpful opinion on the matter." My lips betray the snark sneaking beneath my words. Thor's fingers are scritching at his beard in contemplation before he settles on an answer.

"Prudent. Come, Anthony may die of excitement if I do not deliver you promptly."

"Then put some gloves on and help me put these away, if it's so important." I nod at the dishes already filled with augur, making my way to a refrigerator with a stack.

"…You fit each other well. At work until the last light." He turns to find a box of gloves, broad shoulders nearly plowing into the centrifuge as he does. Once found, he struggles to shove his bear paws into them. "Are they meant to be… this tight? This damnable material-" His hand splits the glove he's fiddling with in two. "Augh. I fear I won't be much help to you." A sheepish smile shows itself over his shoulder. I just shake my head, amused by the earnest effort.

"Heh- don't worry about it." A small sigh rushes out as I juggle the stacks of small disks into the refrigerator. "Did Tony say what he wanted?"

"Oh, I have my ideas, yet I feel he wants to keep it a secret." A toothy grin slides onto his face as he tosses the decimated glove into a nearby trash bin.

"Of course he does." I mutter, hanging my coat on a hook and shedding my own gloves.

"After you, m'lady." Thor gestures grandly towards the sprawling glass doors, a surreptitious twinkle in his eyes.

_Well, let's hope whatever it is doesn't make me pass out._

\--

The bright yellowed anticipation that fades into my chest as the elevator nears our destination begins to make my skin itch. Thor seems to pick up on my reactionary shift in mood while the doors thunk open, and a giant hand presses down on my shoulder, as though he's holding me more tightly to the earth to prevent me from taking flight.

"Are you well?"

"I'm fine. It's probably Tony's fault, it feels like he's really dying of excitement over there." A steadying breath accompanies my first steps over the threshold into the smooth concrete hallway. The lack of muffled, frenzied music feels alien. As soon as the glass paneling opens up to reveal the myriad workbenches, consoles and high end cars, I pick out the science brothers at the far end of the floor, bodies bent towards one another in hushed conversation.

"Thor do you have a code to this door?"

"I do not. I believe only Steven and Bruce do, aside from Anthony of course."

I roll my eyes, smirking at Tony's predilection to inclusiveness.

"Jarvis."

"Yes Dr. Hunter." I hadn't realized how long it had been since I'd called on the AI until his clipping voice answered me so promptly. _Is it odd that I miss talking to a program?_

"Please inform Mr. Stark that I am waiting on him."

The two men at the far end of the workshop are brought from their conversation with a start as Jarvis's muffled sounds obey my request. Anxiety rushes in a wave from the frosted blue of the arc reactor as they both turn towards the door- I have to tamp down on it, pulse responding too well to Tony's effect on me. He's crossing the polished black floor in long strides, making no attempt to hide a cheesy, full blown grin. Bruce simply stands and observes, one hand mussing with the curly mop atop his head. My gaze flicks back to Tony as the door opens with its characteristic hydraulic whine.

"Beautiful evening, isn't it?" He plants a whispering kiss on my jaw- I can't help but be surprised. Tony's mannerisms towards me while we are among others have been reserved on the whole. My head cocks to the side, eyes narrowing at the break in routine. _What is he playing at?_

"That depends on what you've got hidden up your sleeve, dear."

His only response is to gesture me into the workshop with a nod of his head, grin pulling higher on one side. Thor chuckles lowly at his mischievous demeanor as we both follow him in.

"Hello, Doctor." Bruce nods to me, fiddling with the watch on his wrist as we close the distance to him.

"Evening… Doctor." I echo, laughing a little to myself at his insistence on being so formal. "You've been in some kind of hiding- I've been trying to get those samples of ectoderm all day. Jarvis just keeps telling me you're indisposed."

Bruce restrains a coy smile. "Apologies. He wasn't deceiving you, though. Tony's had me trapped down here all day."

" _Trapped_? Oh you giant baby." Tony scoffs, sticks his tongue out in Bruce's direction. "Did we miss feeding time? I can have Natasha heat up a bottle for you." The mention of Widow's name produces a fiery blush at Bruce's throat. I have to restrain myself from my first impulse to reach into his emotions. The doctor clears his throat, wincing a bit as he removes his glasses to clean them on a cloth he's produced from a shirt pocket.

"Shall we begin?" The curly haired man is quick to change the subject as he repositions his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"Let's." Tony cracks his knuckles absentmindedly, an intense honey gaze resting squarely on my face. "Dummy, bring it here." The clumsy bot's wheels whir from an ignored corner. It chirps almost excitedly as it rocks over to me, something hanging in its closed claw. Thor shifts a bit as his toes are nearly sacrificed, the machine coming to a shuddering stop in front of its creator. "Give it." The claws open with a small whir, dropping the something into Tony's outstretched hand. On closer inspection, it looks like a thin strip of metal- something in it emits tiny wisps of dark silver smoke. Tony turns to me, his lips pressed tightly together to suppress the sneaky grin he's been wearing. His free hand floats out to grasp at my wrist, and he presses the metallic band to the top of my wrist. It emits a clean 'click' as it expands on contact with my skin, closing smoothly, instantly around my wrist. The sudden motion forces a flinch from me, my eyes squinting to better see what has just attached itself to me.

Whispers float somewhere in the back of my mind- the voices of the men around me recognizable despite their motionless lips. The anxiety from Tony dies away into the background- still noticeable but not forceful as it was before the band contacted my skin. A smile twitches at the lips of Bruce, Tony's arms fold across his chest as his smirk falls a bit in analytic concentration.

"Interesting." Bruce is the first to truly speak, voice barely above a mutter. "Do you see it?" His eyes flick to Tony. _Sometimes I feel like I'm just some elaborate guinea pig these days._ I understand that I'm supposed to be annoyed, given my inner monologue, and yet I can barely muster the feeling. _It's as though my emotion is being… dampened._

"I do. I'm not blind, Brucey. Lauren, how do you feel?" Deep brown eyes cut into me in fascination.

"Hardly." I answer truthfully. "What is this?"

"Huh. So can you still feel me?" Tony's head falls askew the tiniest bit. I attempt to reach into him and find a flat sort of anxiety waiting, as though I'd turned up the volume on a cheap set of speakers. The feeling isn't as rich or vivid as I'm used to feeling, but it's certainly controllable now, more like the interactions of everyone else.

"…I have to try." My gaze rests at the center of his reactor. When I close my eyes, the empathic beacon I'm used to seeing is significantly dimmed. I bring my wrist up closer to my eyes, peer down at it with scrutiny. I'd gotten used to the constant ebb and flow of Tony's soul- to have it muted like this makes me uneasy, although I fail to mention it. It is an elaborate piece of mechanization- elegant in design. Most of the band seems to be the same titanium alloy I'd find in Tony's suits. It's got a brushed texture to it, sleek and bright. In the center, just above the back of my wrist, is a familiar design. An infinity symbol curves endlessly, one loop of soft white-blue vibranium, the other of deep silver, dark and smoky uru. _He combined them?_ It looks as though the design was inset, a small diagonal partition separates the two exotic metals. _It's beautiful…_

"Dr. Hunter, I'd like to know more about how the combination of metals affects you." Bruce has produced his pad and pen while I've been staring down at the bracelet in dampened wonder.

"It was a damned good idea." I smirk a bit to myself, still entranced by the design as I twist my wrist to view the magnetic clasp resting above the tendons just under the base of my palm. A tinny sense of glee pokes at me from Tony, far away. "Incredibly logical. Uru seems to absorb emotional input, while vibranium amplifies it. In contrast, it seems the vibranium dampens the side effect of telepathy without snuffing it out entirely. The bridge between Tony and I… well I'm certain he's noticed it's been almost entirely closed off, without blocking my ability to feel him at will. But I'm curious…as to why the vibranium is glowing. I was under the impression the glow was due to electron excitement under an electromagnetic charge-"

"Funny you mention that." Tony steps a bit closer to me, bites his lip. Greyed affection tinged with a bit of admiration washes in tiny ripples around my toes as I reach into him. "Bruce and I have spent the last 24 hours developing a way to modify the reactor technology- when the band is clasped, a vibranium ring on the interior allows a charge to flow. It's sufficient power to activate… a number of features I've taken the liberty of including." _Jesus, am I in a Bond movie?_

"Uru is much more dense than vibranium, and there seems to be a correlation between the proportion of atoms in each metal and their effects on you. Odin's smiths were able to forge that tiny piece there, and it contains nearly the same amount of atoms as the vibranium ring does. Of course, if not for your cooperation over the last few days, we'd be two sheets to the wind trying to figure that out." Bruce adds through his teeth as he nibbles on one end of his glasses, every bit the cliché of genius stoic scientist.

"The dwarven crafstmen under the Allfather's rule are the best in the nine realms, certainly." Thor worries at his stubble with a hand. "Anthony, I must say you are dragging out the suspense to an intolerable level."

"Suspense? Surely there's not more than this, right?" I ask cautiously, knowing better.

"Dammit Thor. Someone is always stealing my thunder lately." Tony sighs, exasperated.

"It's what I do." Thor winks roguishly at Tony, clearly pleased at what a beautiful pun he'd wandered into.

"Hah! Get it?" Bruce snorts at them both.

"Ok, I'd be laughing right now if I weren't terrified by what's not being said here." I peer into Tony's eyes pointedly, as if trying to extract the secret through his pupils. "Out with it, Tony."

Teeth glint in my direction as Tony closes what's left of the gap between us. "I'm quite proud of this, you know." He bends in close to me, beard scratching against my jaw as he whispers. "I'm sure you'll find a way to thank me for it." Playful lust swirls around me, this time airy and ethereal. I'm certain that's the uru's doing. Withdrawing into his own space, he picks my wrist up and turns it over to reveal the magnetic clasp.

"If, for some unthinkable reason, you want to remove the bracelet, just press your index finger to the clasp for 5 seconds." He nods at my other hand with a haughty smirk "Go on- test it out." I oblige him, and the clasp separates, the band collapsing until there is a gap large enough for me to twist my wrist through. "To reseal it, touch either side of it." Tony pinches the band between his thumb and forefinger just above where my wrist bones reside, and the band expands into place with a satisfying click. I can barely hear a whisper of the same high whine that his repulsors make as the ornate symbol glows in response.

"Jarvis is available on voice command whenever you decide to wander away from the tower. I've included a holographic display for… well whatever you want to use it for. He's good at figuring it out, right J?"

"Certainly Sir."

"That's my boy."

"Get to the _good_ stuff, Anthony." Thor shifts impatiently, arms crossed.

"Thor, I will not _hesitate_ to throw away every Pop Tart in this building. Got it?" Tony's glance cuts in Thor's direction before it comes back to me. Thor huffs a bit, thumping down on a stool as a small child would do when reprimanded. The stool squeaks in alarmed protest. "Alright. Now, try to relax." One brown eye throws a wink in my direction as he shuffles to my back, lifting my arms and spreading them out as though I'm some glorified mannequin. Bruce's lips are twitching in a wary smirk as he stalks over to Thor's side.

"Why do I feel like I'm about to be ambushed? Isn't that what Trinity says before sliding a metal pike into Neo's brain?"

"Something like that. Feet shoulder width apart for me Sugar Bear."

"Not the time for pet names." I comply with a growing sense of anxiety.

"No? I thought that was a good one. Jarvis, strike 'sugar bear' from the list." Tony's done positioning me curiously and he takes a few steps to arrive at the other side of Thor.

"Right away, Sir." I swear the modulated accent turns up sweetly in amusement.

"Oh- and activate protocol Phobia."

A cacophony of mechanical sounds assaults me along with a sudden telltale rush of repulsor jets and motion. Something shoves itself around both of my hands, wraps up to my forearms, sharp clicks cutting through the repulsor static. _Holy fucking shit-_ I struggle to keep balance as more pieces fly at me, thumping around my legs, sliding under my feet, assaulting my shoulders and chest, and I'm glad the uru is feeding on my shock as everything goes black with an earpopping thud that nearly pushes me down and off my feet.

"Ride it out, Lauren, you're almost done." Tony's calling, voice steady like this is as normal as breathing for him. _Well it's NOT for me._ Thor's voice pulls through the helmet in a tinny sort of giggle.

Everything turns to a searing red for a moment before my eyes adjust to the boot screen of a souped up HUD, and I take the time to swallow muffled shock and take stock of the weight around me, bringing my arms down to test the responsiveness of this massive shell that has suddenly found its victim.

"Dr. Hunter, Mark P45 is fully assembled and online. Shall I begin software diagnostics?" Jarvis's utterances are so close that I feel as though he's actually in my brain.

"Uh, knock yourself out, J." I respond in the best imitation of Tony I can manage. "And can you call me Lauren, for chrissakes?"

"Certainly, Laurenforchrissakes." Jarvis retorts. Bruce can't stifle a sharp laugh. Tony snorts like a teenager at an inside joke.

"Jarvis, do you want me to name you Siri? Cuz that's how you get me to name you Siri." I heave a sigh through the words, both to make my point and to attempt to slow my heart rate.

"Forgive me, Lauren." The british accent still tinkles in amusement.

"J, pop the hood. I think we've had enough fun for now." Tony's voice rings in my ear as the suit complies, the helmet clinking up, the front of the suit essentially sliding back like the blades of a hand fan. I find I can step freely out of it as soon as the motion stops. Bruce seems to relax his posture a bit as Thor stands from his perch. Tony stands, arms crossed, beaming at me like his kid just hit a home run. "Pretty good, for a suit virgin."

_I can't decide whether to fuck him, or kill him-  
_

_-ah who am I kidding. Definitely the former._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've created a concept sketch of the P45 you can view here:  
> http://gliology.deviantart.com/art/Phobia-s-Suit-The-Mark-P45-Fearmonger-548644529


	32. Hesitate

"You are lucky this uru is stabilizing me right now. I thought about testing the targeting systems for a moment even still." I press at the clasp on my bracelet and slide it from my wrist, the lack of contact with dampening metal sending Tony's unbridled pride and amusement rushing back into me again.

"I fear that would violate my prime directive, Lauren." Jarvis chimes in with a stern inflection.

"She's joking, J…You're joking, right?"

"What is so terrible about warning me, just a _little_?" I shoot him a death stare before my head turns back to the empty suit, prompted by the clinking sound of the metal closing back up again.

"I'm nothing if not a showman. Couldn't possibly ruin the surprise." His grin grows at my half hearted attempts to chastise him. Thor can't hold back a guffaw.

"There are just… _so_ many questions this whole fiasco raises, I don't even _know_ where to start." I rake my hands through my thoroughly tangled hair in exasperation. Bruce pushes up from the workbench he had been leaning on, placing his notes back into a pocket. He shoots a knowing glance at Thor.

"We'd better let them hash it out." He nods towards the exit and begins to shuffle off, Thor in lumbering tow.

"Appreciate your efforts, gentlemen. Fantastic work." Tony calls after them. Bruce waves farewell in reply, not taking the time to turn back. When the doors slide shut behind them he turns and strides up to me, gaze on the floor with a lingering smile of satisfaction on his full lips. "Laur, c'mon. It's just a bit of harmless tinkering." An anxious energy coils under Tony's strong sense of accomplishment. He gathers up my hands and peers into me with his head tilted like a puppy. I want to be annoyed with him, but that look gets me every time.

"Not the eyes. That's not fair." I moan in protest. He only answers with a stronger smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, intensifying the look. "What's gotten into you? You built me a _suit_? Why on earth would you do that-- please tell me you asked the Captain first. Or at least _informed_ him." Tony's eyes flick away, smile drooping, giving me the answer to my last question. My level of anxiety spikes at his deflective response. "You didn't tell him??! If he thought bringing me in here was a bad idea, you can bet your stunning ass he's going to blow a gasket _now_!" His grip on my hands tightens as he twists to look at his own backside.

"Hey thanks." His voice is light, but the prickly sense of stress I pick up from him betrays him. I pull my hands down sharply, shaking his attention back to me.

"Hmph... Don't deflect, Tony."

"What I do with my genius is my business, not Capsicle's, Pep-- Lauren." My eyes narrow fiercely on him as he trips on the name. He crosses his arms, gaze temporarily desperate to find anything but my own. Defensive embarrassment heats my ears as it whispers past me from his reactor. _It's not as though I can blame him for confusing us-- but this is just getting more and more out of hand by the second._ I stand in pregnant silence, posture fierce and unmoving.

"Are you planning on drafting me into the Avengers Initiative independently? Am I to wear that thing at all hours just in case Bruce codes again, or the Chitauri stage an encore? This is _your_ technology, _your_ AI, Tony. You made it to protect _yourself_ , to your own specifications, with your own intent in mind. What happens if my own judgment goes against that intent?" He turns away, a growing sense of gravelly, disappointed hurt rushing past me as he makes his way to the cream leather couch planted at a corner of his shop.

"What scenario can you possibly imagine in which that's a thing?" He huffs as he falls onto the couch and winces, propping up his injured ankle on a coffee table littered with cups and schematics.

"Plenty." I close half the distance to him stubbornly, playing with the thin metal band anxiously in the fingers of one hand. "Clint's been mind controlled by Thor's brother before, what if he finds a way to do it to you?"

Tony's eyes avoid me as he taps at the glass of his reactor, half nervous tic, half demonstration. "He's tried that. Didn't work."

"Not the first time, no. But who's to say he won't figure it out? What if-" The thought held at my lips sticks sharp in my throat. I struggle to push it out. "What if it comes down to choice? Jarvis lets you escort a nuke into another dimension on your own directive, but if the choice to sacrifice myself to save people is in _my_ hands, what then-"

"It won't _COME to that_." Agitated fear, anger rooted in denial bursts like a frag grenade over me as his voice raises to cut out my own while he snaps his legs back under him and stands in one instant motion, his throat flushing red and his eyes wild. I close my eyes and my thumb runs over the smooth curve of uru in my hands, soaking away some of the volatile emotion as I take a cleansing sigh.

"Won't it?" As I open my eyes again, I catch the moisture welling up in Tony's endless brown, thousand yard gaze. I'm suddenly stricken with guilt for forcing these thoughts on him. _No, this needs to be said._ My logical side battles tooth and nail for a moment with my emotions. _Maybe… maybe not immediately though._ I pick my way carefully across the workshop and sit on the couch's open space. My fingers curl around Tony's work-rough index finger and tug, breaking him from a motionless trance, and he reluctantly settles into the cushions beside me, back bent forward defensively. "I'm sorry…it's just…it was just so unexpected." My arms wrap around him and I tuck my head onto his shoulder, letting myself feel the hurt bubbling inside him as my own form of punishment.

"Funny- I felt it was almost a foregone conclusion." He sits rigid for a few moments, listening to the whirring of his bots wheels as they go about their assigned tasks a few feet away. My thumb grazes the uru just enough to convince him to relax into me. "You're here now, and you said yourself it's too late to put things back the way they were before. How can I just ignore my best chance of protecting you?" I watch his profiled gaze drop from the bots to the floor, face tight with anxiety.

"You're right." I plant a soft kiss behind his ear, letting hurt soak into my bones. "I apologize, you're right. It would be naïve to expect things to just continue the way they had at MIT. I…" Something about the way his head turns to stare at the suit drives a dagger of regret into me. "Thank you, Tony. It's beautiful. The bracelet, the suit, the effort you put into both of them is just…stunning."

"Thank Thor and Bruce, I just ordered the bots around and made minor adjustments to a Mark 45 schematic." My arms pull him in tighter, determined to break the tension I'd planted inside him. "I probably owe Odin the soul of my firstborn child now. Uru is nearly impossible to get, let alone forge…pff. Joke's on him." _Joke's on him? I don't get the joke._

"That tiny piece is worth your firstborn? Wow." _What's the joke? I feel like I should be getting it- should I ask?_

"No, I had Thor run up to Asgard and consult with the smiths to see if they could combine it with graphene for the suit's electrical lining. They probably gave me a dozen kilograms or so- enough for another suit besides the P45."

_Wow. He did that? Ok Thor is definitely my second favorite avenger now._

"Why would he go to the trouble if it's so difficult to come by?"

Tony's breath rushes out in a small snort. "Apparently pure carbon is even more of a rarity in Asgard, particularly graphene. They haven't figured out how to reliably make it yet, so I agreed to manufacture it for their royal armory until they can do it on their own."

"Hah, really?" I chuckle under my breath, nuzzling his neck to loosen him up a little more. "Carbon, of all things. What happens when they burn stuff? Is conservation of matter not applicable there?"

"You won't hear me say this a lot, but I really have no clue."

"I'll make a note of it. So…tell me about how this is going to work."

"You'll need to be more specific, doctor." His words are frosty with lingering, reactive hurt. _Never thought being called doctor would feel like a bad thing._ I release him and sit closer to the edge of the couch, bending around to insist on his eye contact. He's pulled up an emotionless mask as his eyes flick from the suit to me, despite knowing it won't help him. My lips pull taut on one side as I chew my bottom lip in indecisive remorse.

"How do I learn how to… make it work? I've never had my own flight capable, power amplifying, incredibly rare, sleek, dangerous armor suit of brilliant ingenuity before." Tony's lips twitch as he tries to tamp down on the fuzzy flattery I'm feeding his ego.

"Flying is pretty plug and play, once you get past the whole 'g-force adrenaline rush holy shit' phase." He smirks, his eyes softening a little as I try out my own version of his puppy dog stare. "Jarvis can help you out with it, and he helps tighten up the targeting system for your repulsors too. You just tell him what you want, really. The bracelet… it helps him find you if you're out of the suit and need it. You've seen the way my suit assembles, it'll be the same way for you. Try not to misplace it."

"Never." A small smile pulls at my lips. I watch Tony mirror it.

"Promise?"

"I swear." My oath coaxes some growth from his smile. "So it has repulsors, and Jarvis, what else?"

"It has a state of the art graphene uru conductive matrix. Extends the life of the self contained vibranium reactor by eighty percent. It's also lighter than my older suits, you have the graphene to thank for that. Wiring really weighs things down. Once you get the hang of flying, you'll be faster and more nimble than I am… until I upgrade my Mark 45." There's a prideful glint in his eyes as he takes another glance at the sleek, dark grey and hot red suit. "You'll be able to see in all spectrums of light radiation, and I put the latest SI surround sound in it. I mean, you could probably just hang out in there and watch movies, if you wanted to…"

"That's… heh that's nice." I stifle a giggle, not wanting to risk him frosting up again.

"You'll be able to hear everything around you much more clearly than you would outside the suit. It has its uses, believe me." He casts a small smirk at me, our link giving away my amusement. "There are lasers set above the wrists of each gauntlet, so you won't have to… claw at ropes anymore. I put flares in a distal thigh compartment as well."

"Flares? Like if I get lost or something?"

Tony's head shakes slowly as he chews on his bottom lip, staring through the far wall of the room, as if lost in a memory. "For scrambling the targeting systems of heat seeking missiles. Y'know… just in case." My eyes widen briefly. "I've been glad I had them a time or two."

"I'm just gonna hope I'll be using the sound system a lot more than evasive dogfighting tactics."

He nods, eyes focusing back on me, lips pulling tight for a moment in calculation before curling up a bit. "J, you done with the software diagnostics?"

"Yes, sir. Tactical targeting and flight systems are fully functional. Audio and visual input tests complete. Preferences uploaded."

"Preferences?" One eyebrow raises as I wonder out loud exactly what the AI is referring to.

"Power conservation settings, contact lists, iTunes playlists, that sort of thing."

"iTunes playlists, huh?"

"Nothing like an Iron Maiden song to fly across the country to. You'll see." He winks, smile taking on a more daring flavor.

_I know that look._ "I …will?" He grasps at my hands, pulling me to my feet as he stands, inspired by what's likely a very bad idea. As I hesitate, he turns to me, fractions of an inch away and falls still, my hands still held captive against the part of his chest where the reactor peacefully resides. My gaze pulls away from the hypnotic blue light to find his attention locked squarely onto me, each of his thumbs pulling idly at the skin atop my knuckles. His chin dips down subtly and he worries his lip with a few teeth while doing his best to steal my soul through my eyes.

"Lauren, do you trust me?" His voice is barely more than a low whisper, filled with a breathless, restrained hope. The feeling washes over me, stealing my words away for a long moment as I get temporarily lost in pools of deep brown.

"…What?" His fingers squeeze mine tightly and his lashes tighten around those impossibly captivating eyes, willing me to listen more closely.

"Do you trust me?"

"…Of course."

"You hesitated."

"There was no hesi-"

"There was distinct hesitation." His chin dips lower, eyes pierce sharper into me. Doubt begins to creep thin under the warm glow of the hope infecting my senses.

"I do, I trust you. With my life." _Can you just think about the words coming out of your damn mouth, Lauren? I mean… they're true but everyone knows where this is going._

"Prove it." His lips curl into a dangerously sly smirk. "I'll even let you pick the song."

I raise my head up to peer past his shoulder and consider the sleek death machine standing empty. _God damn it. What is my life right now?_

****


	33. Physics

Tony peels the bracelet from the hand it's trapped in and slides it silently around my wrist again, pressing it into closure with one fluid motion. One low whisper fades into the back of my mind as he peers into my eyes again. The rapidly escalating adrenaline in my veins is muted by my skin's contact on smooth metal- my brain struggles with the disconnect, searching for an explanation as to why my heart is racing, why my mouth is dry and tastes of metal when I don't feel the swirling current of anxiety. I lose focus on my sense of sight even as it pulls at the center of Tony's eyes to read his soul.

_'It'll never come to that. I'll tear the world apart before I'd let that happen.'_

His voice is a small ventriloquist whisper, a solemn oath in the recesses of my mind. I'm so focused on his inner monologue that I fail to notice him drop my right hand and pull away, eyes still locked on mine until the last moment as he turns his back to me.

"J, prep the Mark 45. Get Rhodey on the line."

"Right away."

A ringtone echoes sharply in the workshop, shaking me from my trance as Jarvis puts the call through. I breathe deeply to get a handle on my spiking heart rate. The speakers click on a second ring as the line picks up.

"Tony, if you make me call one more thing a 'training exercise' so help me God-"

"Rhodey! Hey man, long time no talk. I love you too. How's the wife?"

"She's currently giving you that look through the phone. You know, the one that can burn the precious hairs from your chinny chin chin."

"Charming." Tony has made his way to the exit ramp of his workshop as repulsor static rushes around him, the elements of his suit closing around his still moving limbs in a symphony of precision. "Tell her hi. I didn't interrupt anything did I?"

"The chances of that have been falling by the second from the moment I picked up this call, Tony. What do you want?"

The metal shelled man stands mechanically rigid with his back to me, body language masked by shining red and gold. His sharp, mock-offended cluck reveals what I cannot see or feel at the moment. "What makes you think I want something?"

"Don't play this game, man. How long has it been since you've called on a weekday _without_ wanting something?"

Tony hums in an utterance of playful thought. "Say have I introduced you to Lauren yet?" He opts to change subject rather than oblige Colonel Rhodes with an answer.

"She's the one from Per Se, isn't she? You caught the tabloids off guard, but they're throwing out some interesting theories."

"That's her. Thanks for the reminder, I still need to address that." Tony's baritone voice carries a cutting sense of annoyance at the mention of paparazzi. Rhodes chuckles flatly through the speakers.

"Leave em alone. They missed you."

"They have a funny way of showing it."

"Sounds familiar."

"So I have a tiny, little, _miniscule_ favor to ask."

"I _knew_ it. Didn't I know it? I knew it." Half of Rhodes' words are uttered away from the direction of his phone, falling away briefly into the background. I can only just pick up a heaving sigh somewhere in the void on the phone in reply to his reaction.

"Seriously, it'll be nothing. Easiest job ever."

"…Spill it."

Hydraulics whine quietly punctuated by the clanks of his boots on the black stone of Tony's workshop floor as his suit begins to pace. "I made another suit."

"Congratulations." Rhodes is a master of sarcasm- I would expect no less from a veteran friend of Tony Stark.

"I'm taking it out on a test run tonight-"

"You need me for this? This is a normal Wednesday night for you."

"Well there's a thing-"

"A thing?"

"I'm escorting it with the 45."

"Escorting?..." I can almost hear the moment the harried man on the other end of this unorthodox call puts two and two together. "Waaaaaaaait a minute, Tony-"

"It'll be fine, completely uneventful-"

"You _didn't._ "

"-No one will even know we're out there-"

"Tony. No. Nononono."

"Come on, Rhodes! What, are you jealous it's not just you with a piece of my genius anymore?"

"Diggin' a hole."

Tony unleashes an exasperated sigh that echoes strangely through his helmet. Rhythmic clinking falls silent as he stops pacing. "Listen, we really need to catch up. I can't explain this over the phone but I need to introduce you to her soon. I _need_ this, brother."

"Dropping the brother card on me. Man you really must want this."

"I do. So much."

"What am I gonna get for calling my dogs off of that second suit?"

"Get real, man. Your F16's won't even know we're in the air."

"And what if they do?"

"…What do you want, a new Maserati? Two weeks in my Ibiza mansion? I'll spit shine all 23 pairs of your shoes, I'm desperate here."

A deep chuckle warms the thin sound of the phone. "That image is… tempting. Tell you what. Take her with you to our usual spot on Saturday so we can shit-talk you together, and it's a deal."

I can almost see Tony's eyebrows raise in hesitant disbelief as he pauses from his established clipping rhythm of discourse. "That's it? We really need to practice your negotiation skills."

"Oh you want me to be a hard ass? I can _be_ a hard ass-"

"Nope, sold. No hard asses needed. I'll only be out for the night. Point that hard ass in the direction of your wife."

"Gladly." Rhodes needs no more prompting as the line clicks dead and I detect a tiny downward shift in the Mark 45's shoulders as Tony sighs, the rush of air stuttering into a small laugh at the dying end.

"That… could have gone much worse." The suit emits an underlying whine as it turns to face in my direction, bright white-blue eyes glowing with an eternal gaze of fierce and final judgment. _Odd how a simple shape can twist in our perception to such an intimidating signal._ I'm lost in procrastinating thought as the hard, emotionless lines of Tony's helmet tilt down to express restless impatience. I'm frozen still as he closes on all but a couple feet of distance between us and the suit whirs to a halt. "You're struggling with this, aren't you? Even with the uru in the way-" The glinting faceplate clicks open like a gaping maw to reveal impossibly brown irises that cut into my bones. Tony's voice shifts from an echoing modulation to the earthy, gentle baritone mid sentence. "-I can still feel it."

The way his bottom lashes sweep up to drive his words home pulls me back into the present moment, makes the air in my lungs rush to form a reply without prior consent from my tongue. "I-…it's not as though I'm imbued with the same sense of purpose as you were when you first developed the suit." Dark lashes pull a tighter curtain around his gaze in careful calculation. A faint echo of doubt skips over my skin, barely having time to register before being pulled intractably toward the bracelet like a droplet of water into a sponge. _That could have been worded better I think._ "Who do I have to avenge? I have no enemies, not anymore and not yet."

"Ever had dreams where you could fly?" A sliver of a smirk peeks out over the jaw of Tony's helmet. My gaze shifts back to the dark grey humanoid shell a few feet away, keeping a passive vigil for a master.

"When I was a little girl." I admit reluctantly. Tiny clinks betray the movements which lead Tony's metal clad fingertips up to my chin as he coaxes my line of sight back into his tractor beam gaze.

"This is your chance."

My eyes insist on staring back at the smoky grey shell of the empty suit subconsciously, as though this situation is just another problem to research and reason my way around. _To think- he's driven to drinking at the thought of Bruce coding around me again… and yet me being propelled through the air at close to the speed of sound at his own behest is no problem for him. Then again, the idea that a computer essentially controls the calculations involved in flight is somewhat more comforting than predicting the primal whims of a muscle-bound mass of pure rage._ Tony's waiting patiently- the suit around him seems to have a way of tamping down on the manic restlessness he has a habit of adopting when standing idle under any other conditions. My body draws in a slow, deep breath, posture straightening a bit more to accommodate the influx of air before it rushes out. I imagine some of the jittery bugs of nervousness being thrown out of my body with the wind of my exhalation.

"Is there a way to get into it without risking a concussion?" I concede as I square my shoulders in the P45's direction. A sharp shock of victorious glee cuts through me even as the uru pulls it back from my heart. _It's like living with a child, I swear._ I forget to be exasperated, distracted by the way honeyed eyes sparkle back at me, accompanied with a flash of crow's feet and a dazzling grin, hanging on Tony's lips like a haphazardly mounted painting.

"Put the kid gloves on J. I don't want to scare her off." He winks, barely able to abandon the grin long enough to form the words. His faceplate clinks shut and I'm left staring at the imposing metal countenance once again. "You're the fingers, it's the glove. Just think about that and Jarvis'll meet you halfway."

At the last hollow echo of his modulated words, the back plates of the P45 pop open, pieces of the shell sliding and folding outward like an oddly shaped, sleek metallic flower opening to the sunlight. I'm left staring at its uru-graphene guts, thin flickers of blue white energy crawling randomly under the faint, wispy strings of empathic smoke the material emits inside. The inside of the helmet glows with the bright red HUD.

"The Fearmonger awaits your orders, Lauren." Jarvis's even voice prods me gently into motion as I prepare to slide my arms back into the gauntlets.

"Fearmonger?"

"That's her name. The P45, I mean." Tony's hollowed out voice cuts through the air as the graphene lining seems to seal around me, expanding and contracting, each square inch of contact with my skin sending first a nearly unremarkable wave of sensitivity followed by a soft dampening through my empathic sense- it's as though someone's turning up the volume while simultaneously covering my ears. My eyes adjust to the fire red shrouded in black while the armor eats me alive with a series of satisfied clicks. "I name every suit I make." The tinny baritone seems a bit richer in the helmet somehow. "Give Lauren the reins." Tony's command is unmistakably directed at his AI.

"P45 command protocols now set exclusively to Dr. Lauren Hunter's voice parameters." Jarvis is so close as to be inside my own skull again, but the volume isn't jarring, simply unnervingly intimate. I'm so inundated by the visual information being fed through the HUD that I barely notice the meaning of Jarvis's declaration. It takes a few seconds for my train of thought to catch up.

_I feel like I should be doing something important. Shit, I'm so lost right now._

"What's left to do before I'm ready to go?" I wander around inside my own headspace for coherent words to express my confusion.

"I have taken the liberty of compiling a pre flight checklist in your top left field of vision." A wave of clicks and clinks crawls from my toes up to my shoulders- my train of thought derails at the novelty of the sound and what it may mean. "The testing of control surfaces is 90% complete. May I suggest setting a destination for the navigation systems?"

"Her destination is Chilmark, same as mine J."

"Voice parameters mismatched. Command ignored." A twinge of stilted snark sneaks through the AI's accent.

"Smartass." I can almost see the eyeroll that accompanies Tony's sighing reply. The greyed sensation of amusement is enough to pull my focus in on the comprehensive context of the HUD, rather than staring in wide eyed wonder at the details.

"I'm going where he's going, apparently." A grin tears across my face, unhindered by the thought of anyone seeing it.

"Waypoint set for 8 Snail Road, Chilmark, Massachusetts." A detailed topographical map of Massachusetts zooms in on Martha's Vineyard before tucking itself away in my peripheral. "Total flight time approximately 12 minutes 48 seconds."

"Holy- wait, _12 minutes?_ From _here_?!" My brain races to calculate the speed of our flight based on our distance from Martha's Vineyard. "But that's--"

"Supersonic speeds? Yep. Go big or go home, I always say." My suit feels fluid as I turn to take in a visual of Tony's cocky posture- it's as though it knows my movements before I do.

 _Why there? What's over there, anyway?_ I shake the incessant curiosity away and swallow the surge of nerves that lodges itself in my throat. "Right. Go big or go home." I mimic halfheartedly. _Everyone in this damned tower is obsessed with big things, it seems._ "So when we accelerate to that point, will Jarvis take over once the blood pools in my legs and I pass out?"

"Such confidence." A snort from the back of Tony's throat betrays his amusement at my sarcasm.

"Physics is a cruel mistress, Mr. Stark." I reply, finding the blind courage to begin an uneasy stride toward the garage ramp.

"Do you know who I am?" His voice bolsters me, carrying my stride forward faster.

"You're Tony Fucking Stark."

"I'm Tony Fucking Stark, Doctor." A long, characteristically melodramatic pause lays the rhythmic whine of hydraulics bare as the ramp door folds open. "I make physics my bitch."


	34. Like This

The cynical part of me had been a constant source of angst before the thrusters flared, launching me into the night sky like some glorified firework. _You’ll crash. You’ll pass out. You’ll throw chunks into that beautiful HUD Tony worked so damn hard on. You’re not meant for this. Oh GOD--_

My vision blurs, stomach sinking into what feels like my toes as the roar of the repulsors blooms in my skull and immediately falls to a deep static. The lining of the Fearmonger compensates for the incredible pressure pulling my blood into my limbs, and tightens up around them. I can feel the way the suit pushes against the envelope of air it’s traveling in, vibrating erratically but forcefully. I’m caught helpless in this moment for what seems like a lifetime. My mind claws at the HUD to understand the information in front of me.

**Airspeed: 653 knots     Elevation: 39045 ft**

**Blood pressure stabilizing. Exterior decibel input decreased to 65. Oxygen levels nominal.**

_Why in the hell am I so out of breath then?_

 “Jarvis did I scream like that the first time?” Tony’s voice pulls to the front of my focus, clear and rich as though it were a part of me. My eyes flick over to the direction in which I perceive it, below and to my right side. A familiar icy blue scowl stares straight into the sky as he ascends beside me, reminiscent of a wingman in a formation of fighter jets.

 “Yes Sir, do you wish to hear it?”

 Adrenaline tastes metallic on my tongue as I begin to realize I’m not dreaming or dead-- and as an added bonus, I’ve never felt more alive. I’m not capable yet of contributing to this conversation, but I can appreciate the crazed giggle dancing out of my throat as I greedily catch my breath. For now I’m fascinated by the breathtaking feeling of leveling out over the skies of Manhattan, buildings glittering like strangely geometric lightning bugs, streets moving with red and golden light like blood in the veins of a rare mythical creature.

 “...Why do you even have access to something like that?” Tony is at once annoyed and amused as his reply comes delayed.

 “I was to ‘record all input of the maiden voyage for research and development’, Sir.” The AI’s disposition is clearly entertained as he inserts a sound bite of Tony’s words directly into his retort.

 “See, this is why you’re lonely, Jarvis. You insist on winning every argument.”

 “I was programmed by the best, Sir.”

 “How’s the adrenaline treating you Lauren?”

 “This must be why people throw themselves out of perfectly good airplanes…” I’m hoarse and breathless, but I manage to respond. The suit is essentially flying itself at the moment, and I’m not about to try any maneuvers yet- that lesson can come later, when I’m not certain that the smallest misstep on my part will cause the suit to self destruct. I know I’m being completely irrational, but even with Jarvis shouldering most of the work, I can feel the power being thrust from my limbs, know that I could corkscrew or barrel roll through the sky at a whim, and it unnerves and emboldens me at the same time.

 “Sounds about right.” The sound of his voice smooths the rough edges of the hormones racing through my blood, pulls my focus into a tight line ahead of me instead of grasping at every stimulus like a blind man stumbling for a wall to guide him. The distance between us fades my read on his emotions, I notice, as does the uru in the suit. _It’s just as well… I’m sure he wouldn’t want the fear wrapped in exhilaration I’m oozing anyhow._ Still, it draws attention to the way I’ve grown almost symbiotically attached to the connection. Being without it and yet knowing he’s not far away makes everything feel surreal. _Or maybe that’s just the fact that I’m...you know... flying._

 “This is...I can’t even…”

 “Put it into words? I know. Listening to you breathe makes me wish it wasn’t all jaded and old hat for me now.” His voice is calm and low in my helmet. Part of me is still grappling with the fact that this is actually real life.

 “How can this ever get old?”

 “That’s what I told myself for the first few months.”

 I’m busy staring at the skies around me as we dart through diminutive clouds, the lights of the city turning to a small dusting of gleaming pinpoints on the earth. Tony’s suit gives off far less light from his repulsors than I was expecting from this angle, and the moonlight, now unobstructed from the light pollution of the city, glints off the metal in smooth bars of silver. The glaring red of the HUD fades as though Jarvis knows precisely what I want and need in this moment-- just to drink it in.

 

\--

 

Twelve minutes spins and stretches into an eternity while your body is convinced you’re in mortal peril. By the time we are nearing Chilmark, I’m dancing around Tony in spirals, tucking in my limbs and cannonballing through the air before kicking the thrusters down and forcing the suit into  vertical loops, boosting to catch up with my stoic red and gold counterpart as he cuts a straight, fiery electric blue line to his destination, rotating only to face me and watch as I test the waters. The way his low, private laughs send jolts of warmth echoing through my chest only encourages me to play harder.

 “I know this stage.” He hums, waning nostalgic.

 “There’s a name for it?” I tease, still teetering on breathlessness.

 “This is the stage where you realise that the only thing you have to worry about is the ground, and it’s a long, long way off.” I can hear the way his lips pull into a grin as he speaks.

 “That’s… pretty accurate. If not a little lengthy.”

 “I’m an engineer, not a poet.”

 I bite my lip to keep from bursting forth with proclamations of all the shining, idealistic things I think he is, simply because it could possibly fit as a reply. _All this adrenaline is making it hard for me not to be an impulsive idiot._

 “Poetry takes many forms.” I settle for the obscure, falling back into formation beside him. I can’t help but turn and peek over the sleek dome of my suit’s shoulder to watch him thrust through a small cloud, just feet away, peering steadily ahead. The mist throws my visor into a gauzed grey darkness for a precious few seconds before he reappears next to me, helmet turned to stare back at me, lightning blue scowl betraying the sense of fascinated attraction that barely whispers along the back of my neck when I reach out against the uru to feel him.

 “My suit looks fantastic on you.”

 I can’t help a high chuckle. “Thank you, dear Narcissus.”

 “You’re welcome.” The rush of air from his nose as he replies pulls my grin tighter. _I think my face might get stuck like this._

 “Destination approaching in 60 seconds. Initiating preparation for landing.” Jarvis interrupts our banter with an ironically flippant sort of monotone. My organs seem to float up against the back of my ribcage as the AI pulls our course into a steady descent. _Oh shit… landing. I don’t like the ground._

 “Uhh… Tony?”

 “You’ll do fine.” I wish I could glare at him for laughing at my resurgent anxiety. “Really, landing is more like ‘sort of standing on your repulsors and slowing to a hover’. That’s not so bad, right?”

 “If you say so.”

 It really wasn’t so hard- just as Tony had said. The trouble is, my sense of timing cut a nice little gash in the driveway of the sprawling estate before I managed to touch down with a jarring thud, nearly stumbling onto my metal ass. I wince at the burnt trail I’ve cleaved into the ground as the last of the adrenaline buzzes in my chest. _It’s incredibly hard to convince your reptilian instincts that rapidly approaching ground is NOT certain death._

 The Mark 45 clanks to the cobblestone mere feet away from me, a modulated laugh sending the heat of embarrassment into my cheeks. Clicks and tinkling metal prompt me to watch him emerge from the metal cocoon, stepping down and out of the suit without missing a beat.

 “Shall we?” His hair is tousled, his skin glows in the moonlight with the very beginnings of a sweat. _Does his suit run hot? Mine was borderline cold the entire way._ Tony’s breath floats from his lips in a delicate mist as he speaks, and then he holds still with a strange look in his dark eyes- expectant, excited, hesitant all together. I glance at the double glass doors of the modern, slate grey, imposingly large home. Several floor to ceiling windows stand guard beside the doors, hiding a soft orange glow behind the frost and lining of fluffy snow that has been floating from sparse clouds far above us. “Are you gonna keep your coat on?” One of his eyebrows has raised a bit, along with one corner of his mouth.

 “...Hmm?” As the pounding of my heart slows enough to exit my ears, my mind grinds to a halt with it, resting on the black outline Tony’s lashes cast around the silvery mahogany of his conflicted gaze. _His eyes should be illegal… wait...I don’t have a coat- OH!_ “Jarvis, how do I get out of this thing again?” I almost whisper, half hoping Tony won’t hear me. The AI obligingly powers down the HUD, pops the faceplate open and folds back the chest and legplates of the Fearmonger, the cold nips at the center of my chest before sneaking past my suit lining and prying me out, shoes crunching at the thin lining of snow below me. Without thinking, I press at the bracelet to unclasp it. Tony’s eyes follow my fingers, narrowing a bit as his curiosity fades in above the squall of contentment and pride that has rushed into the openings of the suit and surrounded me. I sigh in relief, drinking in his emotions.

 “Does the gift offend my lady?” He tries his hand at impersonating Thor as he takes two slow steps toward the front door.

 “No! God no. It’s just… I don’t know- I’ve grown accustomed to that link between us. Addicted, even. Its dampening is fixed, I feel like I’m forced to breathe stale air after standing on a mountaintop.”

 “I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of making it dynamic. Give me a few days, I can find a way.” The glow through the windowpanes paints his cheekbones an intense sort of orange as he unlocks the door with a fingerprint.

 “Really it’s fine...I didn’t like how sensitive I was to you at first either until I grew accustomed. I think I’m just a giant whiner.” Tony’s teeth glint from the ambient light as he grins, popping the doors open.

 “J, tuck the kids in will you?” Tony mutters as he leads me into his estate. The suits obediently clank off towards the direction of a garage.

 “Tell me you aren’t just leaving multi million dollar suits of cutting edge tech in a garage.”

 “Of course not. What do you think I am, some kind of reckless idiot?” I pull my lips into a smirk as he looks back at me while we cross the door’s threshold. His lashes tighten up in a mock scowl. “Ok, that’s fair.” Teeth bare briefly before he turns back to shed his shoes, and I take the cue to do the same.

 This house, if you can call it that without gross understatement, is a sprawling showcase of modernism- birch wood and marble, clean lines and gentle curves, streaks of light metal running through the rooms. At the moment, it’s covered in small white candles, spitting tiny flames that flicker indignantly as the atmosphere outside escorts us both inside. _What in the world is all this?_  Tony is exuding an amalgam of nervous energy and anticipation, contentment and a hint of lust. I watch the glow of his reactor attempt to sneak up behind me as I look around with bewildered, wide eyes. He snakes his arms around my torso, presses his too warm body against my back and tucks his head into my shoulder, beard pulling at my skin roughly.

 “What’s the occasion?” I mutter softly as he sighs, some leftover tension pouring from his mouth as he does.

 “I felt like it, mostly. All workshop and no vacation makes Tony go crazy. At least, that’s what Widow claims.” He pulls me in tighter, rubbing his damp, impressively soft hair against my jaw. “You’re cold.”

 “You’re like a damn oven. I saw you sweating when you exited the 45. How do you keep from cooking to death in there if this is the dead of winter?”

 “I just need to replace the coolant… it’s getting stale. I wonder if you even need it in there, you’re like ice. I was hoping the uru would disrupt how efficiently the graphene transfers heat, but clearly it’s not quite enough. If the suit fit me I would have been able to test-” I’ve slipped a hand around his jaw and pushed it up to stop the words with my mouth. The rest of the breath dedicated to his rambling train of thought floats out through his nose, catching on a faint purr deep in his throat.

 “You left your brain in the workshop.” I press the side of my head to his before releasing him. Lust grabs predictably at my ankles. Tony shuffles us toward a hallway, still wrapped tightly around me.

 “Yeah… can you get it for me?” My bare feet register a transition from hardwood to some sort of silky, cool film. As I glance down, I find we’re walking on white rose petals.

 “What in the?”

 Tony’s baritone rumbles at my spine as he laughs softly. “Didn’t know I could be romantic, did you.” He punctuates the accusation with a nip at my shoulder as he waddles us into a bedroom that has no business being as large as it actually is.

 “Surprises.” I purr almost under my breath, letting him guide me while my eyes float around the room. _Red silk sheets, rose petals, hey look- champagne! Is that...jasmine I smell? Christ, he’s pulling out all the stops._ We’ve barely moved past the doorway as want curls like steam around my ankles. It’s being held back by something, and I register a twinge of frustration before I realize I’ve got my fingers curled around the bracelet. It quickly finds itself abandoned on the dresser beside us, clicking against the wood softly as Tony slides his hands under my shirt and warms my cold flesh with fiery, work rough fingers. As soon as my skin loses contact with the uru, the volume on my senses turns up tenfold and I sigh again, taking in the empathic light of the reactor and the glowing ivy tendrils of affection greedily.

 “I can’t stop thinking about you lately.” Tony mutters, moving us a step closer to the bed. “I haven’t been able to focus. Thor almost punched a hole in the Mark 44 while we were raiding one of the Hydra splinter bases in Montana last night.” My head falls back on his collarbone, neck craning to encourage him to busy his mouth with action rather than words.

 “It seems friendly fire is more likely to damage you than the things you go out to clean up.” I note, wondering how long it might take to get to those silk sheets.

 “Can you even imagine the self control it took to come back from a week long combat mission and finish the P45 instead of snatching you up?” There’s a predatory edge to his growl.

 “You poor thing.” I feel a shiver travel through his skin when I turn my face up to his ear and whisper into it. My teeth nip at his earlobe for good measure, and I can sense the hair on his arms stand up with gooseflesh. The electric current I’ve sent through him ends up finding its way back to my spine through his reactor, forcing the same reaction in me. _I’m so much more sensitive than I ever remember being before…_

 I’ve turned to face him as my knees greet the side of the bed briefly. I have a rare opportunity tonight to drag out the way the lust floods over us in a riptide. The distance and time we’ve been separated has weakened our tolerances, strengthened our desire for each other. The lioness in me begs to toy with her prey before eating it, and who am I to deny her?

 Tony’s dark gaze searches my face for what I’m scheming. I almost expect him to ask, but it’s surely written all over me, down to the way I’m pressed hard against him, dragging my cool fingernails up the hot skin of his back from underneath the damp cloth of his shirt. His pupils blow wide and he loses focus too easily, jaw pulling open a bit to let a tiny, thoughtless sigh out. His hips nudge against me even as both of his hands are occupied with grabbing my ass like a teenager, knowing I’ve got nowhere to move but the bed. I fall backward onto the silk sheets, allowing him that small victory, but not without curling my fingers into his Iron Maiden shirt and pulling him with me.

 He growls with satisfaction briefly, pausing to stare at me sprawled out on the bed, but I’m only allowing him to think I’ll give him what he wants so easily. _Work him up into a frenzy. Give him nothing else. Make him beg for mercy._ The lioness is licking her lips hungrily, imbuing my soul with a predatory essence.

 His arms pick up from supporting his weight above me and moves to slide his fingers back under my shirt. Without hesitation, I push them away and tug his shirt off in one smooth motion, the soft wave of surprise that ripples from him incredibly gratifying. His head tilts to the side, face pulling from trancelike concentration into a smirk that I’m obliged to echo. I don’t allow him much time to consider before rising up and closing my mouth around the stubble at his throat, hands latching around his skull and forcing him to climb onto the bed over me. I gather up the lust around us and fire it into his skin like a cannonball as I suck on his adam’s apple. I’m rewarded with a gasping for air, the sound of him choking on his breath as he’s struck by the vicious lightning of want.

 Tony complies too easily, busy with the shockwave as I grab him by his shoulders and push him off his arms and onto the bed, roll him onto his back as I straddle and grind against him. I can feel his cock strain through his jeans underneath me as he shudders again, lips caught between distracted neutrality and anticipatory pleasure. I have to put no small amount of willpower into keeping the shocks of lust from backfiring and overwhelming me instead of my prey. My gaze narrows as I am sorely tempted to stare at the way his skin still has a sheen in the candlelight, but I can't allow him to recover, not yet.

 “You’re in a lot of trouble.” I purr, pressing my chest against him and sinking my teeth into the meat of his shoulder. He has no words to reply with, only an aborted sound somewhere between pain and ecstasy. His hips raise up with enough force to lift me off the bed and I clamp my legs around him, hit him with another rogue wave of lust as punishment. Tony gasps again, hips settling back into the sheets. I watch his skin erupt in a wave of chills, the power I wield over him deeply satisfying to me. “Here’s how it’s going to go, Iron Man.” I mutter against his skin, shifting my hips and swiping my tongue across a collarbone to tease him further. “I’m going to make you forget everything but my name tonight...and if you dare to spoil my fun, I’ll throw so much raw want into your soul that you’ll never find release.” Another vicious stream of lust digs into his skin to drive my point home- his black, glazed eyes roll up into his head for a moment. “Do you understand?”

 It takes a long moment for him to respond, his breathing already deep and heavy. “Yes...please.” His voice is so thick and low that it’s little more than a gravelly whisper.

 “I’m sorry, what was that?” I dip my head down again to taste a trail from his reactor to the tender skin behind his ear, savoring the salt of his skin. His throat vibrates with a groan, and I grin deviously at the knowledge that he’d like to switch everything off and just feel, but he’s being forced to speak. His failure to respond quickly is nothing short of delicious. I shift my weight again, sliding against him and his hands grasp clumsily at my thighs, intoxicated. I let another wave of want flow into me from his body to amplify it and my breath shakes out at the potency of it, fingers curling into his thick hair and pulling down to open up his throat. My teeth and lips drag along the sandpaper stubble beginning to sprout there, I move to capture his mouth, biting at his lower lip and tugging at the edge of too rough. His moan feeds my soul. My self control breaks for a moment as I kiss him, rough and deep, betraying the fact that he undoes me as much as I do him. His hands slide from my thighs to my ribs, rough skin sending a wave of lightning coursing through every inch of me, reminding me to regain a handle on my powers. We’re both out of breath before I pull back from his mouth and stare into the abyss of his eyes. “Say it again.”

 “Yes…” My fingers tug harder for a split second and he growls breathlessly in response. Lust flows directly into his skull from my grip, and he bucks under me half heartedly, already aching.

 “Again.” I mumble softly against his ear, dipping my tongue into the shell of it, sending another rippling wave of gooseflesh over him.

 “Yes. Yes...yes…” The word becomes a chant with no rhythm, frequency only determined by the moments he can’t hold back any longer.

 This game is a challenge for me. I inevitably begin it wanting to torture him in ecstasy for an entire night, but as he responds to me, submits to the wanton things I do to him, I know the small victories will drive me gradually insane until I lose control and give him exactly what he wants. I will lose and win at once. _For now...we’ll see how long we both can take this._

 My hands have to retreat in order to curl around his wrists and pull them from my ribs, I watch his chest flex as he resists me slightly, and my tongue clicks at his insolence before I close my eyes and drill more lightning into him. Backlash sends a ripple of heat into the depths of my gut but I manage to wrest control back. I pull his arms up above his head and begin to grind against him, terribly slowly. He bucks against me again, a groan turning up in helpless frustration as I dip my chest back down and tease at a rock hard nipple with a broad swipe of my tongue.

 “Lauren!” My name on his lips sends a torrent of want through me unexpectedly. My thighs clamp down on him in desperate response.

 My hands release his, slide down his chest, pull past his ribs. I have to give him some kind of quarter, I can’t resist my own need like this. He sighs as I dismount him, I half expect him to make his move- the way he lifts his head up to watch me unzip his jeans and tug them off enlightens me. Tony’s as invested in this game as I am- he wants to see who will break first. His arms stay by his head, palms up, though his fingers twitch with the need to touch something. _Perhaps he’s counting on a reward for good behavior?_ I strip my own pants and shirt, toss them aside, down to the black lingerie I had picked out this morning. Though I was picturing something much more mundane as I woke up to the sound of his boots clanking on the helipad below our suite, I knew we’d find each other before the day was over. _Like magnets._

 Tony fails to comment on the lace I reveal, but he’s enthralled. Lightning shocks my thighs, my stomach clenches as I take my time crawling back on top of him. His only reply is a heady, glazed over smile. I drag my chest over his boxers, press against him to nip and suck at the thin skin at the brim. He shudders again and I feel the thump of his head falling back onto the bed through the mattress. On a whim, I tease every inch of skin pulled tight over the muscles of his abs, press a kiss to his naval, work my way up to his chest, his cock flexing against me in random intervals. Lust fills the room with heat, the smell of his sweat mixes with the jasmine, the sound of his heavy breath with the occasional moan or growl is my personal paradise.

 I make it back up to his nipples before he starts to beg, the things he mutters are hardly sounds, let alone words. He cries out as I nip at a nub of dark flesh, shivers and goosebumps rippling down him again, hips thrusting upward, hoping to find some stimulation to ease the unbearable ache his cock surely feels by now.

 “I need you…” I’m impressed at how clearly the words fall from his lips. My hips grind up against him in response and his black hole eyes roll back into his head briefly, breath catching in his slack jaw. “Lauren please! Please…” The desperation in his graveled voice is like blood on the mouth of the lioness inside me. My focus pulls tight on the sound, distracted from the taste of his skin.

 I move impulsively to press my lips to the reactor. The moment I make contact, the lust rears up and strikes at me, lightning pounds through my veins, an unexpected barrage of sun silk soaks up the want all around us and threads it through my every pore. My arms go weak, I can barely hover above him, and in my loss of strength I lose skin contact with the bright blue disc buried in my lover’s chest again. _Whoa._ Tony lifts his head up to watch me, he’d felt me lose control but it only seems to deepen his gone stupor. His right hand has found its way to my face and he summons my attention from the need and affection that has burrowed into my stomach. “Please.” He begs again, the word clear and soft, and somehow more than the simple requests for release I’d heard until now. _Fuck this._

 I grind against him again not as a punishment, but because my body wants this as much as he does. I thread one hand underneath his head, hold his neck with the other and kiss him again, at the breaking point now, with no desire to play this game anymore. Tony sighs into the kiss and I moan in return, his hands find their way back to my ribs, still hesitant. _Give him what we want._ Barely able to break from the kiss, I hold his head up and press my lips to an ear.

 “Take me.”

 Hesitation slips into the burning sun silk, even as it grows more intense. Tony pulls his head down to peer into my eyes. I can almost hear his train of thought without the uru present. _‘Are you sure? Do you want this?’_ I nod mindlessly, my lips clash with his again. “Take me, Tony. Now.” The words are pushed into his mouth between kisses. He moans so softly in anticipation that it’s closer to a whimper before his chest flexes and he rolls me over, shedding our underwear in a matter of seconds.

 My thighs spread to him as reptilian instinct, the look on his face pure, razor sharp focus as he runs his warm hands from my hips to my knees and pulls them up. The sound of his breath rings so loud in my ears that it almost overtakes the pounding of my heart and I realize that he’s staring into me, brown eyes glinting in the candlelight, cautious and admiring, saturated with need. He swipes a broad hand slowly up the underside of my hip- the sensation is almost jarring but overstimulation turns to electricity, grips my chest and forces out a low moan of impatience. Tony holds the fingers he’d slid across my skin in front of his gaze briefly- they glint orange with the ambient light in the room, clearly wet. _Jesus I am losing it._ His tongue darts out of his mouth to lick his fingers and he hums as though it were ambrosia, shifting his hips to line up with mine. I gasp, lungs clawing at the hot air as the head of his cock presses up against me, and he curls his torso down to rest his head in the crook of my neck, breath rushing out over my skin, setting it on fire. His arms tuck into the space beside my ribs, hands cradling my shoulders and I curl my own around his back, dig my fingers into the muscle. His hips are maddeningly still, I wiggle a bit without conscious effort, desperate, insane with the last moments of lust’s denial. “Please…” My voice is the one wavering breathlessly now. “Do it.”

 Tony’s fingers tighten and tremble around the meat of my shoulders, he presses his forehead into my neck and pushes forward, stretching into me, slipping steadily forward and down. My breath catches, escapes in a croaking, slow moan as I turn my head to bring my lips closer to his ear. He calls out softly against the sheets in relief and elation, and as he seats himself entirely inside me, pressing against my core, my breath is stolen away. His chest comes down to rest against mine, reactor tingling at my skin, and the silky threads of fire I was stupefied by before make a sudden return. My jaw drops open and no sound emerges. Every nerve burns with something completely indescribable, enveloping me in the sweetest sensation. I need to cry and laugh and moan at once. Tony shifts inside me, his skin rough with gooseflesh, I can feel his muscles tremble, we both gasp in unison. We cling to each other as he draws slowly back, my core clenches, immediately missing the feeling of being full- as though I was incomplete until that moment, and suddenly deprived of being whole again.

 “I won't-...I can't last.” He chokes into my ear and I hook my heels into the back of his hips and push him inside again. He moans as though I've both ripped his heart out and promised him heaven at once. I ache for more, clenching around him.

 “Doesn't matter...don't try…need you.” I can't even form complete sentences. I feel him turn from rock to steel inside me and he grunts, giving up all control and driving into me. I cry into his ear in victory and delicious pain, clawing at his back, so determined to merge with him that I can't hold another thought in my head but the way he groans as his pace turns from slow to hurried to erratic. His chest falls back into mine as he seizes, pushing hard against my core, he screams, teeth clenched, face pressed into the sheets. I’m wrenched into orgasm by the reactor, which seems to pour every sensation from his body into mine. I barely catch the feeling of heat spilling into me as my eyes roll back into my head and my scream mixes with his, every fiber of muscle twitches and clenches, every movement sends a new wave of silky inferno digging from his chest into mine.

His cry falls to a grunting whimper as he drives into me one more time. It takes a long moment before we touch back down to a version of reality hazy in electric afterglow, still shivering and gasping. Tony slides his arms under my back and rolls us over again without separating from me. He pulls me down to rest on top of him, panting hard. The reactor tingles on my skin, thrusts ropes of silk around my heart, pulls them tight. My chest feels too full- I’m overwhelmed. My eyes close, and the only thing I have the will to do is listen to his heart pound over the humming of the arc reactor. _When I die, let it be like this._


	35. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **major edits and additions as of 5/25/2017**

At first, Tony can’t muster the effort to move. His arms have fallen spread eagle on the sheets as I lay on him, my arms tucked at his sides, knees drawn up at his hips. The heat between us is incredibly comforting, a small part of me begs the world to let us stay just like this forever. By the way his hands have arrived at my head, pulling through my hair lazily, I would wager he’s struggling with the same thought.

I’m roused from the edges of sleep by his chest rumbling in a chuckle. “You...are too perfect for me.” I pick up my head and he cradles my jaw with one hand, continues tugging at wild strands of gold with the other. Honeyed eyes stare into me, the strangest smirk pulls at his lips- it seems to curl down the slightest bit. Regret, cold and grey blue, dampens the leftover lust in the tapestry between us.

“Why? What are you thinking?” I respond by pulling my limbs in tighter around him.

“About things that will never exist.”

I’m prompted to crawl to his side and pull a silk sheet over the two of us. I curl a leg over his hips and tuck my head into his shoulder, he buries a hand in my hair again. “You’re very cryptic for someone who isn't a poet.” He huffs a half hearted laugh at that. “Tell me.”

“I’d rather just have you make me feel like a virgin again. Think about it- that’s the highest form of praise.” His downward smirk turns up again as he turns his head to plant a scratchy kiss to my forehead. “Actually, that was easily the best. Way better than my first time. I wasn't really in love with that girl, and I was so worried about doing it right- also roaring drunk. Come to think of it, I barely remember it. Why do people always say their first time is so great? First times suck.” He’s rambling. He only rambles with me if he’s trying to distract or delay me from addressing the emotions he knows I’m picking up from him. _I’m not sure why he still tries- it has never worked in the past._

“First times really do suck.” I agree, voice rough with contentment.

“See? I knew it wasn’t just me.”

“Mine was with Eric.” Tony bristles slightly at the name. “He was… very self involved.”

“It wasn’t…”

“No, no it wasn’t the...assault.” I almost choke on the word. “But the more time that passes since my life then, the more I understand that he was just a very charming psychopath. I should have known from the start...his emotions were few and far between. At the time I chalked it up to being repressed. We’ll believe whatever we need to in order to justify our choices, sometimes.”

“You’re a fixer.” Tony muses, arm pulling me in tighter to his side.

“A fixer, huh?”

“Think about it. You thought he was repressed? A woman like you could have anyone. You stuck around because you wanted to fix him, didn’t you? To help him with this perceived repression.”

I hum in half agreement, rub my face against Tony’s chest to find a slightly more comfortable position. “The whole time I was recovering at your cabin, you could have just patched me up physically and kept your distance. But you tried to fix stuff that’s been in me for years anyway. Your entire line of research revolves around fixing broken minds. You’re a fixer.”

“Then we make a good team, right?”

Tony laughs to himself, turns to bury his face in my hair. “I’d say so.”

“It’s tough for me to fix things sometimes, Tony. I know you know it drives me crazy when you try to hide why you’re feeling the way you do.” He stays still for a long moment, considering his reply. A twinge of guilt slides into my skin from him.

“I just thought I’d let us enjoy this moment without bringing my baggage into it.”

“That’s fair, and I appreciate your intent, but my powers are a two edged sword. I wish I could switch them off, or maybe not care so much about what I feel, but I do.”

A deep sigh carries my head with it as he gathers up some resolve. Apprehension prickles at the back of my neck. “I was just thinking about how beautiful you are...how I wish I could have a shot at giving you a kid.” I can feel him trying not to shrink away from me. Shame, greasy and dark, pulls to the surface. “It’s too early to have that thought, isn’t it?”

“It’s too early to be in love, too. But that’s only if you give a shit about social convention. Which I don’t.” The hand that isn’t trapped between Tony and I drags its palm against his chest, stealthily soaking up some of the negativity he’s oozing. “What makes you think you wouldn’t have a shot?” He flinches minutely at the question.

“I don’t. It’s not a matter of whether or not you and I want it, sometime in the future. I’m sterile.” That shame makes a comeback, stronger this time.

“How?” _Oh my God that was the joke. His firstborn child..._

“Long term palladium poisoning will do that to a person.” Tony clears his throat as though the words are building up in it and strangling him. He laughs softly, bitterly. “Of course at the time I found out I was sure it was secretly a blessing. No unplanned surprises, right? Especially with me on the way out. If I was gonna ‘whoops’ my way into being a dad, I would have wanted to actually live to see my kid, and that was definitely out of the question.”

“But then you found vibranium.”

“Then I found vibranium, right. But Pep...ah…” I reach for the bracelet at the table beside the bed, hoping he won’t notice. My thumb grazes the uru and I soak away some of his bitter sadness. “Pepper and I decided we didn’t want kids anyhow. I mean, I think that if we could have had one, if it would have accidentally happened, we both secretly would have wanted to raise it. We would have been happy to have it.” He chokes again. My fingers press harder into the tiny uru ornament. “But she was so terrified of waking up one day and getting a call from Cap to tell her I’d died in the line of duty. It was an eventuality to her. Ironic, right?” His breathing is getting subtly shakier. “And then I thought I’d never find anything like her, that I’d just bury myself in invention and meaningless sex and alcohol like I had before her. I always think I’ve got everything planned out and then life hits me with a two by four. So now I’m here, after the best sex of my life, after being let into a place inside you that I have no right to be, sniveling like a little bitch about how I shoot blanks.” His breath snorts out again in a bitter echo, a twisted ghost of amusement.

“We can find a way. If we want children, if the world we make is good enough for them, biology is not going to stand in our path, Tony.” The squall I’m trying to leech out of him weakens a bit as he turns to face me, laying on his side. I tuck my head against his chest, burrow into his warmth as his arms wrap around me. “You’re a genius billionaire engineer. I have dual doctorates in Neuroscience and Biotech. Shit, we could build a cyborg together, a beautiful aberration. We could be the harbingers of the apocalypse.” Tony’s chest has tightened in a half chuckle, he doesn’t try to hold it back as I feign insanity. He presses me tight to him, kisses the top of my head.

“I knew I loved you for a reason.” His words are pushed through a smile. The regret fades away into nothing. _Fixed it._ He’s drumming a hand on the sheets- there’s something else. _Isn’t there always?_ “So...you don’t have any issue with this. What we just did.”

“Did it feel like I did?”

“It felt like I turned into a lightning rod, really.”

“It’s been so many years, Tony. I’ve thought and thought about what he did to me. Sometimes it comes back and strikes at me from the shadows, but you are so far from my memories of him.”

“Oh good, because I’ve been called a psychopath before. But those were reporters. And I was still making weapons.”

“I can officially certify you ‘not psychopath’ then.” He laughs a bit, settling back into the afterglow. “Besides, have you seen the movie Nightcrawler? I feel like psychopathic reporters might be much more common than anyone thinks.”

“Do you ever think about revenge?” This one’s out of left field. I have to process it for a few moments, breaking up our easy banter.

“On Eric?”

“And his father.”

“I think I had my revenge, and it tasted bitter. It planted a seed of guilt in me that took a long time to weed out.”

“Once again you prove you’re a better person than me.”

“I wasn’t aware I was in a contest?”

“That’s your fault then. Everything I do is a contest.”

“How about this then.” My eyelids weigh heavy as the expenditure of my entire stock of adrenaline finally catches up with me. The warmth of his body and the smell of the jasmine and sweat are singing lullabies to me that I’d rather not resist any more. “Last one asleep is a rotten egg.”

“Pff you’ve already got a head start! That’s not fair.” His fingers toy with my hair again, as though he wants nothing more than to lose this particular race. “J, cut the lights.” A thousand little whirs whisper at once as the candlelight fails to paint my eyelids red anymore.

"How did you…?”

“They’ve all got little tiny lids and little tiny batteries and little tiny wifi connections. Haven’t figured out a way to light them without running around and wasting a lot of matches, though.”

“Hmmph.”

I hear Tony rumble something about cheating somewhere far away as I slip under, content in my lover’s arms.

 --

 

 


	36. Projection

**96:!5pm E@rly 5uMm3r- Random Couch, Dream, Anthony Stark's Cortex**

 

_Huh...what is a couch doing in this weird mist? Odd one, that--_

 

_Wait..._

 

_This is a lucid dream, isn't it? What is this, the third time this month?_

_When the hell am I gonna get some proper sleep??_

 

_Now I just have to figure out if it's mine or his. Probably his. It's so...generic._

 

_Tony?_

_..._

_......_

_Hello??_

 

Yeah, it's mine.

 

_Jesus Christ, Tony you've always gotta come out of nowhere in your dreams._

 

What can I say, I have a penchant for the dramatic.

 

Listen, I think I wanted to talk to you about one more thing tonight, but I fell asleep before I could. Plus I'm still an internalizing sonofabitch, so I'll bet this will be easier in a dream-- but first, I just want you to pause with me and recognize that I am, in fact, a genius for accidentally forcing you into my subconscious for the third time this month.

 

 _Understandable._ _Wait, you can't just 'summon' me or something anytime you want when you're asleep can you?_

 

No...I mean, I don't think I can. I'm not trying, if that's what you're asking. 

 

_Oh good, because these little forays into your deep dark secrets are seriously draining me._

 

Wouldn't you want me to be able to control them if they're draining you?

 

_Tony you are equally as effective at dancing around the subject in the dream and real worlds. Congrats._

 

Alright, alright, you snarky little minx. 

There's something I need to get off my chest about the night I met you.

 

_Oh?...Oh._

 

Yeah. 'Oh.'

 

_I'm all ears._

 

Well do you remember when you explained why you weren't trying to call for help?

 

_...No._

 

Ugh, you're going to make me play it back for you aren't you.

 

_..._

_...Yep._

 

Fine. *Sigh*

 

\--- "Relax, will you? We'll likely have plenty of time to get to know one another here, unfortunately. I hike here from the next town over, about 12 miles away. That's the only road into or out of this place which vehicles can access, and while I have running water and solar electricity, I purposefully bring no phone up here, not that a cell phone would work anyway."---

\--- "The whole purpose of this cabin is to close off from humanity for a time... so I have carefully maintained its isolated location. We would have to hike together to the access road and then from there to the tackle store a couple miles from that town for the nearest land line, and its hours are short in the wintertime for obvious reasons. I don't know if you can make the trek in this weather--unless you have some kind of transmitter in your suit?"---

 

Happy?

_Ecstatic. Fascinating how I can see myself through your eyes with that Eidetic memory of yours. Yes, I recall now._

 

Good. 

I lied.

Sorta.

 

_About what, exactly?_

 

I said I'd gone deadstick. Here's the kicker though, The suit had no power running to it from my arc reactor when I blacked out, but that doesn't mean I didn't have some sort of transmitter.

 

_...You're gonna have to elaborate._

 

Come on, Lauren, you're literally in my brain. You have to know what I'm saying here.

 

_Not how that works, Tony. Out with it, I need to know what you mean._

_Don't give me that look. I'm here because of you, so you'd better explain the heart of this or you're just gonna suck me back in tomorrow night._

_..._

_I'm just gonna sit here until you tell me exactly what's on your mind._

 

...

Alright...

Here goes.

...

 

Truth is, I didn't want to go. So I didn't try to.

 

Before I saw the cabin, I was waiting for my body to just give up-- at least it would look like I put up a good fight before I'd died.

Maybe it'd sell to SHIELD as a freak accident.

Maybe everyone would be broken up for a little while, until they realized they had to keep going. Maybe they wouldn't ask 'Why didn't he tell me?' or 'Why didn't I see this coming and stop it?' or 'Why would anyone rely on me to save the world when I can't save my own teammate from himself?'-- at least I could try to spare them the slow cancer of that sort of guilty grief, the way it eats you up...

The way it slowly erodes your soul...

 

So I just kept walking. I just kept dragging the pieces of that fucking useless suit behind me so everything looked on the up and up when my legs stopped working and I finally fell asleep in the snow.

And that would be the end of it.

Then I saw that orange glow up on the side of that slope, and I thought 'I'm not going to make it, but I have to go that way because Cap will wonder why I didn't.'

Then I smelled the wood fire. I watched your shadow sneak into the back door around the time I realized my hands and legs were finally giving out, and something... happened to me.

 

I had to try.

 

The door was right there, and then you were right there, and the warmth from the cabin brought your smell out from the inside-- the rooibos tea and the Marlboro smoke.

It was the way you just... knew. You just knew I needed you, not the medical attention, but _you,_ and I stopped thinking about everything for just a few seconds at a time-- about Pepper, and the team, and how rock bottom low I was, and how...

...how I had actually planned this attempt for months and had been mere minutes away from succeeding.

I just stopped thinking.

 

You immediately _took charge_ of what sad shreds my life was reduced to. --I hadn't felt that in the longest time.

I'd completely forgotten what it was like to trust someone with your life-- not just your physical body--

I'm not talking about that.

 

I'm talking about the answers to questions like 'What should I eat?' or 'Will anyone make sure I'm safe when I sleep?'

... or 'Am I ever going to feel happy again?'...

 

All the noise died away that had been buzzing, and buzzing, always. fucking. buzzing. inside my skull in the years since Pepper died.

It all just... disappeared for a moment.

When you mentioned how isolated we were, and then asked if I had a transmitter in my suit so that we could contact someone, I watched the half-life I had been barely surviving through coming back to drag me away. I knew that I could've crafted something with what was left of the suit, I could've made any number of things to pick up and send a transmission SHIELD would get, easily.

Some of the first things I made as a kid were radio transmitters.

I could make one in my sleep.

 

But what if I just... didn't?

What if I stayed here with _H_ _er_ for a little while longer and just... rested? No one would know the difference anymore, right?

 

You've seen my recurring dream of Stane, haven't you?

...

Of laying there, paralyzed, of him reaching into my chest and ripping out the only thing keeping my heart from being shred to tissue paper while I watched him helplessly?

Well, I _never_...and I mean _never ever_ let _anyone_ touch my arc reactor after that happened to me.

 

Pepper was the only exception to that rule until that night.

When my mind started idling again-- I remember this clearly-- you walked up and sat right beside me. You traced a finger around my reactor while coaxing me back out of the spiral, and instead of losing it and hyperventilating, or trying to deck you in the side of the head as I've done with countless other poor bastards, this crazy, ecstatic ...warmth... came over me.

 

I thought about pressing up into your hand like a dog to get you to do it more, for a moment.

Think about that for a second--

I literally wanted to press the most precious, crucial and coveted thing about me into your hand. Within twenty four hours of meeting you for the very first time.

...

That was it. That was the moment.

I already loved you.

...

================

**2:46 am February 2nd- Chilmark Estate, Martha’s Vineyard, MA**

I'm barely able to keep a shuddering gasp from escaping as I'm sucked back into the waking world by a tidal wave of innumerable emotions. In the silky blue light of the reactor, I watch Tony's dreaming expression through burning, wet eyes. 

 

He's smiling in his sleep.

I wait for my own dreams to overtake me, soaking in the warm radiation of his chest.

===============


	37. Reporting

**8:42 am February 2nd- Chilmark Estate, Martha’s Vineyard, MA**

 

“No, I don’t need to make a comment, or do any kind of interview. Listen, we don’t even need to give those piranhas the goddamn time of day...of course I’ve seen it, I’m watching it now. Frankly I’d like to know how they can even speculate on this pile of bullshit without running right into a lawsuit-... yeah. Oh right, like the first amendment has anything to do with this. These people are still feeding off of the corn in Kim Kardashian’s shit, get real.”

Tony’s sharp tone and gritty frustration cuts into my dreams of flying as the first breath of the morning rushes into my throat. His voice rings into my head from the living room and I seriously consider whether or not to go back to sleep in the hopes of salvaging my dream. As I decide against it, the ache in my legs sends a wince into my face and I sigh, the recollection of last night bringing a blush to my cheeks. _That man is going to wear me out well before my time._ He had woken me up, allowing me an hour of sleep before coaxing me into a lust frenzy again- we’d practically turned into a pair of honeymooning rabbits.

Now I regret not having the good sense to stretch first, my hips and hamstrings stiff and in a unique sort of pain. _I earned it though- like badge of honor._ I smirk to myself as throw on his Iron Maiden shirt, previously discarded into a corner of the room, and slip the black lace panties on before padding out to the living room to discover what all the commotion is about.

Tony’s sprawled out on a white leather couch on the far end of the living room, eyes cast on a television hanging above the fireplace. It’s on mute, but I hardly need the sound to understand what’s going on- TMZ’s flicking between far off shots of Tony and I in Per Se close to a month ago, then Harvey Levin’s rattling on about something, more shots of us shopping on the streets of Manhattan, walking into the lobby of Stark Tower, ad nauseum. ‘Stark’s Secretive New Fling’ hangs as a title on the screen. I feel oddly violated, but far from surprised.

 

“Jonah. Leave it alone.”

Tony sees my reflection in the marble of the fireplace and he turns his head to greet me. “I’ve got to go. I’m not worried about it, man. If they want something, they’re going to have to work for it...alright. Ok. Later.” He pulls a bluetooth earpiece out of his ear and tosses it onto an end table with a long, exasperated sigh.

“Being famous is a pain in the ass.”

 

“Hmm. Who’d have thought?” I stretch before flopping onto the couch and settling into his shoulder. “Who’s Jonah?”

 

“My PR manager. He wants… or rather the _board_ wants me to give the public something to chew on besides rumors. My stock tends to take a 'nice little uptick' when the general public sees me showboat. They think I’m their dancing monkey.”

 

My tongue clicks at the way he radiates a loathing sort of frustration. “You’re _my_ dancing monkey... not theirs.” His ribs pull away from me as he snorts bemusedly, eyes crinkling soft.

 

“In all seriousness, they’re going to be redoubling their efforts now. Someone sold pictures of you-- _that_.” He points up at the screen as an image appears of me, clothes tattered and covered in concrete dust, left hand on Mjolnir, right on the jaw of the Hulk. The shot is low quality and far away, likely some bystander on the street adjacent to the alleyway we were in. 

_So it *did* look like I was the Ann Darrow to Bruce's King Kong._

“I’m surprised Cap hasn’t called me. Maybe the old man had an aneury--” His phone rings again as I unmute the television, curiosity getting the best of me. Tony practically flips me off the couch in his rush to  leave the room as I’m left to focus on the television.

‘Bystanders, including the one who sold us these phone pictures, say she just touched the giant green guy affectionately called the _Hulk_ and… well, un-Hulked him. At least that’s what I’m getting from the people I’ve talked to. They all seem confused. Even more intriguing, she was seen eating with Stark and a co-worker named Bruce Banner at the sushi joint  to the right of the picture there right before all of this went down.’

I feel a bit of ice crystallizing on my lungs at the thought of anyone putting two and two together. _No, I’m not going to be afraid of this anymore. I’m with Tony Stark now- he has no interest in hiding from the public and I shouldn’t either. Right?_

“Capsicle! What’s up?- ...We’re out at Chilmark, minding our own business, wanna pay a visit?...Oh yeah, that...I might’ve made a teensy, tiny suit. No, for her… Well you’ve got enough on your plate nowadays, what with your old friend Barnes running around-...” Tony’s got his back to me, one hand pinching at his nose. Annoyance and a small undercurrent of guilt slither across the floor to me from him.

‘So what’s her deal? Sources tell us she was a professor at MIT and right around the same time we started seeing her on Stark’s arm, she ended up at R&D for Stark Industries. Now she’s palling around with the Avengers themselves. Stark’s been pretty tight lipped about the whole thing, which, up until his former CEO and constant companion Pepper Potts died in 2016, was _not_ his M.O. At all. I don’t know, what do you think Charlie?’

‘I think we should leave Stark alone at this point. The poor guy’s probably trying to live his life but he’s Iron Man. Potts died under some shady circumstances and anyone he’s gonna have by his side would be a weakness, unless they were some kind of superhero themselves.’

“Rhodey knows. Yeah….listen Cap I’m getting kind of sick of being treated like I’m an untrustworthy child. I mean, I know you and Dad were best friends but this is getting a little ridicul-- well how do expect me to _protect her_ if she can’t have _armor_ … Oh yeah that’s a great plan, let’s chain her to the tower. What about that ‘normal life’ you were so set on her having?” Anger is making a reappearance, tinging the frustration red and hot.

‘The picture of her staring down the Hulk, I mean either she’s got massive kahones or she’s an Avenger in training or something. His _fist_ is around her _waist_ here. And how did she even get into the middle of that? If you were Stark, wouldn’t you want to fly her the hell out?’

I can feel my pulse starting to race. _Sick of being a bystander to all this._ I flick the tv off, the anger in Tony taking seed in me. Before I know it I’ve padded up behind Tony.

“Yeah, yeah. Only a month. When do we get to stop counting the time? What, a year? Five? She’s not a goddamn whim, Steve. She’s not my pet project.” My hand snaps out and snatches the earpiece from his ear. A shockwave of surprise pushes at my chest as I stick it into mine.

“Captain Rogers.” I greet him, an edge of ice to my tone. It takes a moment for the man to respond.

“Doctor Hunter, nice to hear you’re well.” Steve’s voice is even and controlled, But I can tell he’s almost as frustrated as Tony.

“Let’s dispense with the pleasantries, shall we? It’s been made crystal clear that I’m a source of contention between you and Tony. I’d like to bring the team together rather than splintering it- but I don’t see how that’s possible unless I’m involved in the decision making process here.”

“All due respect, ma’am, the decision making you’re referring to is in regards to the Avengers initiative and you are not a part of said team.”

“What I _am_ a part of, Captain, is Tony’s life. This is something I don’t foresee changing. Considering Tony _is_ a part of the team, I believe that warrants me some sort of opinion on the matter. Now regardless of how beneficial you perceive me being to the Avengers, it is a fact that listening to you two squabble on a weekly basis is not only tiring, but deeply concerning to me. If you have the time, I’d ask you to come to Chilmark.”

“What do you feel that would accomplish?”

“Well, for one, it would be significantly harder for Tony to hang up on you or avoid your calls altogether, which I’m sure you would appreciate. Two, with my power’s relationship to uru, I could provide an effective mediation of the irish tempers you both display during your pissing matches.”

Tony growls a bit behind me. I don’t try to hide the way my eyes roll.

“Pissing matches?”

“Yes, pissing matches. Surely you’re familiar with the term. I can allow you both to have a calm, rational discussion, even an amicable one. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? Of course, that’s only if you trust I won’t manipulate you somehow.” I expect a quick response, but the other side of the line is silent for a few long moments.

“Fine. Expect a quinjet in half an hour.”

“Excellent! I’ll make breakfast.”

His decorum fails to prevent him from hanging up on me mid sentence. I wonder if I’ve morphed into some kind of mini, female version of Tony to Steve, rather than my own entity. Regardless, I had invited him here, and he was on his way, and I had promised him breakfast, whether he had heard that part or not.

I turn back to Tony, slipping the earpiece out. His arms are crossed as he stands, motionless, one eyebrow turned up expectantly.

“Do we have pancake mix?”

“What have you done?” He huffs.

“What you should’ve done weeks ago. I’m setting up a trust resort.” His annoyance pinches at my feet, but amusement softens the feeling a bit. “Seriously though, do we have pancake mix here?”

“Check the kitchen pantry.”

I watch the reactor follow me into the sprawling kitchen. It takes me a moment to locate something that could be called a pantry. Sure enough, someone had stocked the shelves with all sorts of baking goods, but I wouldn’t have expected it to be Tony.

“Do you cook? I didn’t have you pinned for the cooking type.”

“Sometimes the team vacations out here to get away from the city. That pantry is Bruce’s fault.”

“Well it’s handy this morning, because we’re having pancakes.”

“You know, I have a better idea.”

“What would that be?”

“Bird buckets?”

The reference pulls a sudden laugh from me. “Seriously?”

Tony rubs at the back of his neck, puts his puppy dog face on. “Well… yeah. I mean, it’s been weeks since I’ve had one.” He shuffles up to me and plants an easy kiss on my lips, despite the nervous energy he’s emitting. _Still got the Captain on his mind._ “I miss them. A little.”

“Alright.” I smile demurely. “Bird buckets it is.”


End file.
